


Fractured Light

by erobey



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-07 05:48:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 36,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1116253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erobey/pseuds/erobey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tragedy spawns tragedy and Legolas breaks under the strain. Brought to Imladris near death from self inflicted wounds, there is a dark secret surrounding the affair that caused his sorrow. Can the Lord of Imladris heal this broken soul?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

# Fractured Light

# In the Office of the Elven Lord

"You must understand, we were but children when our mother died and he has depended on me since then." 

The ellon shifted in his chair and flashed the renowned elder behind the desk an imploring glance filled with guilt and denial. His eyes dropped back to the hands folded neatly in his lap, the fabric atop which they rested darkly stained with blood. There was so much of it and it was all his brother's. A sharp breath left him and he raised his eyes again.

"Tell me that you can help him," he pleaded, scooting to the utter edge of the seat and gripping the smooth wood of the desk.

"I have yet to examine him," Elrond answered, "but I will do all within my power to aid your brother. The immediate threat has passed and he is in the care of my best healers. Still, it is pointless to send me to him without any information. You have yet to answer me, Thranduilion."

"Yes," the eyes looked away again as the elf retreated to the farthest limits of the chair, crowding up against the sturdy arm, leaning and turning to gaze out through the open veranda to the garden beyond. It was a fair land of peace and learning, a place he had always longed to visit, but not under these conditions.

He was quiet a long time and Elrond permitted the silence, observing his unexpected guest closely. Tall and comely in the manner of the Sindarin folk of old, Rammas strongly favoured his father with golden hair and a haughty brow. His eyes were not the same vibrant green of the famous King; instead, the irises were a shadowy kind of hazel, the sort of eyes that changed colour depending on the light or the mood afflicting the heart. Today, now, they were the palest shade of citron he had ever seen and packed with remorse, worry, and what looked very like shame.

That hint of mortified horror was the reason for this conference, for the wise healer had spotted the underlying emotion fuelling the prince's agitation as soon as he'd trained vision upon him. Fear for his younger brother's life was primary, yet this other concern followed right on it and that was troubling. What could be the source of Rammas' disgrace and how was it connected to his brother's condition? The younger prince lay so near death his recovery was still questionable, but this Elrond would not reveal. Not yet.

It was uncommon for an elf to attempt suicide, yet there was no question the injuries were self-inflicted. That he had been discovered in time was irrelevant; the younger brother had hoped only to die and had chosen the quickest method at his disposal: slicing through his wrists with one of his daggers. He would of course interview the despondent elf, but he wanted to hear Rammas' explanation first. He would know why the failed suicide rendered Rammas ashamed.

Elrond kept his features placid and his internal musing obscured, a skill required of all healers and one he had mastered so many years ago he was no longer cognisant of employing it. Whatever was at the heart of this tragedy, he would extract it through patient silence and careful questions.

A deep sigh left Rammas and he finally turned back to his host.

"Lord Elrond, I never meant anything like this to happen. We were on our way to the Havens and there I intended put him on a ship for Aman. I did not think he was so lost else I would not have permitted him to have any weapons. Valar! I would have bound him hand and foot had I suspected he could do such an act of violence upon himself!" 

Rammas shot out of his chair and paced around the spacious office, never seeing the elegance with which it was furnished, the artwork on the walls, the towering case of tomes and scrolls. He did notice the quiet scribe sitting in the corner, dutifully documenting the conversation, and scowled as he returned to the desk and threw himself down in the chair. He pointed at the silent witness.

"Is this necessary? What I would say to you is private, of a highly personal nature and should word get out it would impact my Adar severely. I will not have our family's distress become the fodder that feeds the gossip mills of this land."

Elrond raised his brows. Rammas was trying very hard to justify why he had permitted his brother access to weapons, but this was not the underlying source of his guilt. Nor was this talk of scandal and gossip the reason for his deep sense of humiliation. Even the fear for his father's health felt exaggerated. Elrond decided to challenge this last assertion.

"Do you mean to say your father does not know his younger son was bound for Mithlond? Does he not know of his despair?" Elrond asked.

"Of course he does," groaned Rammas, leaning forward and rubbing at his temples, another surreptitious peek gauging his host's reaction. It availed him nothing; the ancient lore-master just stared, features bland and thoughts inscrutable.

Elrond watched him, simultaneously intrigued and disturbed, for he detected subtle indications that Rammas was putting on a show. His histrionics could only be designed to prevent discovery of the facts. The elder prince was hiding something, its roots far back in the brothers' elfling days, something of which their father had no understanding. 

_Something he does not want his Adar to learn._

That lay at the core of his anxiety, but Elrond saw no means by which the King could be prevented from finding out about his second child's efforts to destroy himself. Now that the ellon was in Imladris, Rammas had to realise his father would be notified. Elrond was honour bound to do so and to make every effort to uncover and ameliorate the cause of this morbid behaviour.

_A matter of the heart, surely._

In all the Elven Lord's vast experience, suicide among the First-born had but one source: a shattered soul. The question, then, was why Rammas would fear to have this revealed and again one answer materialised quickly: an unfortunate competition between the brothers to gain the favour of this love interest, a contest Rammas had won. If this were the case, that would explain the elder brother's guilt but not his shame. So the display presented was meant to answer the bald fact of the dire situation with at best half-truths, which were often harder to disprove than outright lies.

_Rammas is protecting himself, or the object of the contention, why?_  

Whatever the reason, it did not include regard for his brother's fractured heart. This was not lost on Elrond and displeased him greatly. 

_Beneath his grief and shame, would he be relieved if I fail to heal this lesser prince?_

"Hîren, I must beg you to send that scribe away, at least for now," Rammas started up again, nervous in the lengthening silence. "Allow me to explain this for your ears alone and then if you deem it must be recorded I will accept your decision."

Elrond thought about that, wondering if he should grant this request given his certainty that Rammas was implicated in his brother's fate. There was more here than the normal guilt family members experienced when one of their own tried to die, more than the guilt of being the successful suitor. He did not want to gloss over something this serious, believing it a disservice to the suffering elf as well as Rammas. True healing could only come about if the brothers reconciled whatever had come between them. Perhaps Greenwood's heir would more readily expound on the truth if he believed his secrets were shared only with an equal. Elrond decided there could be no harm in deferring the official record and gave a quick command to his secretary, who rose and left without comment. 

"There. Rammas, my only hope is to uncover what led to your brother's rash act." Elrond smiled at him. "Now, tell me of Legolas and what happened when you were but children."

"Thank you, Hîren. You will see it is for the best. Such a subject must not get abroad. Legolas is a fine warrior and has never failed to serve with honour and distinction. His recent actions concerned us, Adar and I, to the point that we decided he must go over sea."

"How did Legolas himself react to this decision?" Elrond interrupted.

"Not well," Rammas paused and rubbed a hand over his face. "He accused me of trying to get rid of him. He said it was not necessary, that if I wanted him gone he could manage that without help."

"And the first attempt was made at this time," Elrond nodded, having suspected previous efforts would have been made. He could see wary surprise in Rammas' eyes; as if he had not thought elvendom's best healer would understand such things, and diverted him from contemplating this misjudgement. "Tell me about the behaviour that caught your father's notice."

"It first came to Talagan's attention. He is captain of Legolas' patrol. Soon after I began courting, Legolas requested extended deployment. His reasons were not far-fetched and no one suspected an ulterior motive, yet once the request was approved, he began exhibiting recklessness. He was taking wild chances and placing himself in unnecessary risk. Talagan brought him back unconscious, seriously wounded. He advised Adar to place him on indefinite leave and in the care of the healers."

"The captain thought he was courting death."

"Yes."

"Your father did as he suggested?"

"He did but Legolas would not co-operate. The healers could not divine the source of his malaise and Legolas would speak to no one, not even me." Rammas rubbed his chin, frowning as he spoke and sent the famous healer a speculative look.

"That is unusual," stated Elrond. "It is my experience in such cases that initially the suffering person seeks to alert those he loves, though the means are distressing and often take the form of accusations aimed at the very ones he loves most."

Rammas blinked several times in succession, saying nothing at first, and then he shifted in the chair and amended his report.

"I did not want to talk about that," he intoned, studiously avoiding Elrond's eyes. "He told Adar that he was heart-broken and the fault was mine, that I had taken away all chance for happiness. Adar was furious, first with me but when he was able to confirm that I had not chased away or stolen away Legolas' love interest, his anger turned back upon my brother. There was a volatile row and the things Legolas said, so dark and filled with scorn, earned him a blow to the cheek. He's never been struck before and I think that was the breaking point. That very night he tried to end his life."

"I understand," nodded Elrond, sympathetic and benevolent. In fact, he heard deceit in Rammas' account and surmised this argument had not been between Thranduil and Legolas, but between the younger prince and his brother. "What method did he use?"

"A repeat of his actions while on duty. He left the stronghold and invaded a spider colony alone. Fortunately, there are always patrols on alert throughout Greenwood and one of these spotted him. The captain wisely decided to follow his prince and thus Legolas was extricated from the vile monsters' clutches in time to administer the antidote to the venom." 

Rammas was twisting his hands together and once more averted his eyes as he told this tale. Elrond waited, wondering if the prince realised that Legolas must have wanted to be found and saved. Before he could try to draw out that notion, the prince began again.

"I behaved badly; I admit it freely. I was so upset and so angry with him! How could he do this to me, to Adar?" he stopped abruptly and actually covered his lips with one hand.

"What did you say to him?" asked Elrond, knowing that whatever followed was not the source of the guilt but that he was meant to think it was. The truth must be dire for Rammas to go to such lengths to conceal it.

"I called him selfish and unfeeling, jealous and cruel. I told him he was driving Adar back into grief when it had taken so long to mend him," Rammas muttered from behind his fingers, eyes downcast and shoulders hunched forward. Again his wary gaze flickered up to Elrond's, the irises now a darker green tinged with gold. "I told him…I said I did not love him anymore."

That last statement was wholly truth, Elrond deemed, and Rammas had really said those words. Their impact on Legolas was obvious. The rest of the prince's story skirted truth without touching on the real crisis. He decided to play along and rose from his chair, retrieving a small flask and pouring out a swallow of the famous cordial into a silver cup. He pressed it into the prince's hands and smiled with gentle compassion, a hand resting on the forlorn elf's shoulder.

"You must not blame yourself for this," he said. "A reaction like that is not uncommon and we have all had moments of rage spawned by fear. You were so distraught you did not realise what you were saying." Having delivered the expected dispensation and observed the satisfaction with which it was received, Elrond returned to his chair, a definite sense of gloom clouding his heart. Rammas would not have been pleased for his brother to die, that much he believed, but he was very glad the subterfuge appeared to be working. It would be easy to get the real story now, for the elf would never realise he was revealing it.

"Thank you, Hîren," said Rammas, offering a grateful smile that did not reach his eyes. He inhaled deeply and continued. "I regretted it before morning and went to apologise, but he was not in his rooms. I raised the alarm and we searched the palace without result. Legolas is adept at disappearing if he so wishes; countless times he's evaded notice and gone off alone. Adar was frantic, knowing he was still ill from the spider poison, and went out with the search parties himself."

"Was it he who discovered your brother?" Elrond asked quickly, watching his guest's reaction keenly. Rammas was shaking his head, again bent over, face cast down and eyes averted.

"I found him in a place we used to go in our youth. It was our secret hide-away and he would retreat there whenever he was in Muindoradar's bad graces."

"Was that often?" interjected Elrond quickly, expression benign while his voice was compelling, his goal to throw Rammas off the carefully constructed story-line.

"What?" The prince's head came up and he stared at the elder in confusion.

"Was Legolas often in your uncle's bad graces?"

"Oh. Yes, somewhat more than I. Is that important?"

"Possibly. Go on, Rammas." Elrond smiled and made an encouraging motion with his hand.

"Yes, well, I decided to look there. He had meant to hang himself." Rammas shuddered as he said it and lifted his hands to cover his eyes as though to block the vision behind them.

"Yet you were able to resuscitate him," Elrond nodded, saddened to discern the reference to secrecy and Legolas' near invisibility amid the household, his tendency to hide in this place only the brothers shared. He did not confront Rammas, but he knew that had hanging been the real method, only immediate aid could have rejuvenated Legolas. Rammas would have had to find him within minutes of the act and that scenario did not fit the story given. "That is when your father decided he could not risk another attempt. The trip to Mithlond was planned and he sent word ahead to Círdan to make a ship ready."

"Just as you say, Hîren," Rammas said, never realising the faint note of triumph in his tone was more than audible to the gifted healer's ears.

"So there have been two failed attempts prior to this one," Elrond rose from his desk and strode out into the room, clasping his hands behind him as he paced, seeming to be deep in thought. "Even so, Legolas was permitted to carry his weapons on the journey. No doubt the danger of attack through Hithaeglir accounts for that decision and in any case he was under constant surveillance. Somehow he slipped from sight and nearly succeeded in killing himself." Elrond worded his conclusions carefully, not wanting his guest to suspect his real thoughts. He paused and turned to Rammas. "You mentioned jealousy; do you feel this is the cause of Legolas' desperate actions?"

"Yes. You have to understand, Legolas and I have been inseparable since childhood. He depended on me when our mother died and Adar could not rise from grief to care for him." Rammas' voice was appropriately subdued and replete with anguished concern. "We share a close bond forged from our own grief. I did not realise how deep it had grown for Legolas until my betrothal. He cannot accept that I love another and desire a family of my own apart from him. I tried to explain that my feelings for him have not lessened, but he does not hear me. I thought he was just trying to get my attention, to force me to end my engagement."

"How old were the two of you when you lost your Naneth?" Elrond asked gently, his countenance cast in sympathetic planes, while beneath this facade despondent anger built. Jealousy to such a degree did not generally arise merely because a sibling wished to marry, not even between identical twins. Jealousy this malignant and destructive arose only between lovers.

"Legolas was only ten; I was thirty-five," mourned Rammas. "I thought he would fade and would not let him from my sight. The healers would not let us see Ada, believing he was beyond hope. It was surreal; in a palace filled with family and friends, we were alone but for each other."

"Yes, it must have been incomprehensible to children so young," Elrond murmured, sure now what was really behind Legolas' desire to die. The clues were all there and Rammas had as much as admitted it. He sighed heavily and returned to his chair, studying the ellon in front of him. "The comfort shared between you is understandable; indeed, it was almost inevitable. You had common rooms, one bed?"

Rammas hesitated, fear returning to his eyes as the colour in them dimmed. 

"Aye. Legolas was afraid to be alone. He thought I would die, too, or that he would. Our aunt did try to break him of it, but his screams of terror were unbearable. In the end, they had more than enough to do looking after the kingdom and Adar."

"Most unfortunate," Elrond sighed, and this was a heartfelt comment indeed. "And the fact that you two took care of each other only means the rest of the household was relieved. The uncle, Thranduil's younger brother, assumed the mantle of Regent, correct?" Rammas nodded and made to speak but Elrond held up a hand to prevent it. "His family must have been overwhelmed, caught up in the new arrangements and fighting grief, too, though of a lesser degree. Your uncle's fear of losing his brother would have been nearly all-consuming, even terrifying given the numbers in the immediate family lost to death and Mandos. As time went on, you and your brother's self-sufficiency would have been viewed as a blessing instead of a warning."

"Aye, Hîren, all you say is true," Rammas murmured, fear plain in his lowered voice and pale green eyes. "I did the best I could for him. I did not know what to do and he… loved me so." The prince swallowed hard and remained quiet, uncertain if he had said too much or too little.

"It is all right to say it, Rammas," Elrond spoke with quiet authority, hoping he could convince the prince to confide in him. "You were also a child; no one would hold you to blame for what happened. You needed him, too. She was also your mother and your grief was just as deep, just as raw, just as harrowing. You depended on Legolas as much as he did upon you, if not more."

"Yes." The single word was crammed fat with anxious confusion and Rammas was unable to break from the elven Lord's commanding stare.

"Understand me; my brother and I underwent a similar ordeal, orphaned at a young age and forced to rely on one another for all things," he added. " _All_  things, Rammas. Yet we were not left to our own defences long. The captors who would hold us hostage turned into surrogate parents we came to love. They intervened and explained, without censure or punishment, why we must stop, Elros and I. Because I was the dominant twin, I was sent to dwell with Círdan for several years; time enough for both of us to develop a measure of independence and understanding. When we were reunited, we were brothers again and all remained harmonious between us ever more. I am eternally grateful for my foster-fathers' intervention.

"As the elder brother, you are naturally the dominant one. No one stopped you; you had no means to judge the harm such intimacy invited for you were only a child. Maturation was undoubtedly slow and stilted, but the body advances according to the natural order of all living beings and Legolas loves you. Curiosity is also natural and the result was, as I said, inevitable. Had it ended there you would not be here; he would not be in the House of Healing. But elflings, even grieving ones, do not remain elflings. The day came when you knew it should end, but you could not end it and neither could he."

"I…What are you saying?"

"Can you not admit it, here where there are no other ears to hear? Was that not your purpose for demanding no record of the facts?" Elrond coaxed his reluctant witness, truly desiring only for him to own the past and its affect upon Legolas. "I give you my solemn word that no hint of this shall become public knowledge. You love your brother, do you not?"

"Of course I do, but I do not see…" Rammas broke off and licked his lips, hands nervously twisting together again.

"Then say it," commanded Elrond, rising and gazing down upon his guest, his tone and presence daunting, the subtle power of Vilya cloaking him in a might far beyond the comprehension of his deceitful guest. "Tell me that you love your brother. I would hear your voice when you speak those words."

Rammas rose, too, and backed from the desk. "I do not know what you mean. Of course I love my brother, Lord Elrond."

"And Legolas?"

"What?"

"Your brother. Tell me what manner of love Legolas bears for you."

Rammas stood gaping, face wan and eyes wide, breath suspended, frozen in dread. He shook his head and a hand raised to trail against his throat as he swallowed again. Finally he heaved a shaky breath and sought to answer, knowing that all would be revealed to this ancient elf as soon as he spoke. What then?

"Adar must not find out," he blurted the words in desperation. "He could not bear it and he has only so recently healed. That is the only reason I…" and he stopped, unable to go on until he knew what Elrond would do. "Hîren, you must see how serious is our situation. Greenwood needs her King and Thranduil needs to believe all is well with his sons."

"Greenwood needs her King? Forgive me, but that is preposterous. Do you mean to tell me Thranduil is content to have Legolas torn from him? Do you imply he does not grieve for what has happened to him already? What father could be content knowing one of his children has three times sought to end his life?" Elrond thundered, disgusted by such excuses. Then he reined in his wrath and drew a deep breath. "It is simple enough and your father will understand, Rammas. He will understand and forgive. I understand and forgive, for this sin is the the result of fear, grief, unintentional neglect, and desperate loneliness. Who is it who will not forgive, your betrothed? Her family?"

"Sin? Forgiveness?" shouted Rammas, fists clenching tight. "I have tried to be a good brother to him; this is Legolas' doing! I am the one who stood by him always; I am the one who has taken care of him, loved him! Now that I have a chance for a life of my own, he would destroy it and ruin me!"

"Strange, it is not you lying in the infirmary, Rammas. Once more I exhort you: admit what you have done for your own sake as much as your brother's." 

Elrond paused and watched as Rammas' eyes tore from him, furtively flickering around the room, assessing his means of escape, a trapped rat if ever the Elven Lord had seen one. It was in his nature to be merciful, yet the prince's behaviour was not conducive to that natural response. Even so, he had been wrong before and must give the ellon every opportunity to unburden his soul. Sadly, Thranduil's heir rejected the saving grace of confession. Rammas drew himself tall, gathering his regal heritage around him.

"Your words trouble and confuse me," he said coldly."I brought my brother here for help and instead I hear only accusations that I am responsible for what has happened. This suspicion and doubt does not serve and I will take Legolas elsewhere. I will get him to Mithlond alive even if I have to bind him for the entire journey. Please forgive the intrusion of our family crisis into your peaceful realm." He gave a curt half bow and turned to go but Elrond's voice halted him.

"You may go at your leave, but Legolas must stay here."

"I beg your pardon, Hîren, buy that…"

"That is how it will be. He is ill, sick unto death. He will not survive the journey. Three times he has tried to die and as in any undertaking, practice leads to expertise. He will succeed before you reach the Havens. Is that what you want?"

"No! How can you imply that?"

"I imply nothing," snapped Elrond. "I am being quite explicit, Rammas. Under your care, Legolas will die. Here, there is a chance he might be healed, body and soul, for he is young. You are both young," Elrond continued, more compassion in his voice. "Even now you are less than three-hundred years and thus so is Legolas. I do not believe you truly want him to die; you are just frightened and emotions moved beyond your control."

"What? I am not afraid." Yet the timbre and tone of his words belied their spoken meaning.

"Go, Rammas Thranduilion, Prince of Greenwood. Return to your homeland and marry your Lady. I will send word to King Thranduil on Legolas' condition." Elrond ordered sternly, having heard all he cared to for now. He felt pity for Rammas but he could not expend any more energy on him at the moment. Legolas must be his concern. "You are not to see him before you leave. By noon on the morrow, you and all your contingent must be across Bruinen. This is my decree; do not go against it or be assured that my report to your adar will be entirely too detailed for your comfort."

Rammas stood in stupefied disbelief, unable to conjure words of rebuttal, and Elrond did not wait for him to recover his composure. He exited through the open portico adjacent to his study and headed across the lawn, making for the House of Healing.

TBC

The Names:  
RAMMAS: Wall  
TALAGAN: Harper  
MUINDORADAR: Uncle (brother-father)  
FORN'WAEW: North Wind  
SAMMAR: Neighbour  
GILION: Star Son


	2. Chapter 2

# Fractured Light

### In the House of Healing

Elrond marched through cultured gardens down bordered walks with purpose born of foreboding and reached the ornate gate of wood and iron just as a figure crested the small hillock concealing the House of Healing from the grounds of the great estate. The elf was running and gave a shout as he spied Elrond, doubling his pace, face etched in grim distress. Gathering his flowing robes, the Lord of Imladris broke into the long-legged lope distinctive to the First-born, recognising Forn'waew, one of his apprentices in the physician's trade. The ellon halted and waited for his Lord, turning as he came abreast and matching Elrond's speed.

"Fell news, I warrant, yet your haste grants me hope," huffed Elrond between breaths, eyes simultaneously watching the path and the running elf beside him. "Speak, Forn'waew!"

"Aye, Hîren, the Woodland prince still lives, but his condition deteriorates at an alarming rate. There is unnatural heat and Sammar believes it comes from a previous wound. There is a scar and beneath it the flesh festers."

"Elbereth."

They spoke no more and reached the infirmary quickly, racing into the antechamber where fresh aprons were stored in shelves along the wall. Elrond fought off his robes, stripping down to a plain silk undershirt and trousers as Forn'waew gathered his lengthy black hair and bound it tight in a single long plait. The end he tucked beneath the ties of the crisp, white covering Elrond threw on, jogging behind as the gifted healer moved into the wards. The first stop was a basin where the assistant poured nearly scalding water as Elrond scrubbed his hands vigourously beneath the steaming stream. Grabbing a towel from the ready supply, he cleared his mind as he dried his fingers and stepped briskly into the clean, airy surgery.

"Praise Varda," sighed a harried elleth dressed in an identical smock, chestnut tresses confined in a tight knot at the nape of her neck. She straightened from her place beside the cot and turned. "Hîren, the wound must be drained but I feared to do it myself as his condition is so poor. I pray I did not wait too long before sending Forn'waew."

"Nay, Sammar, I trust your judgement," Elrond consoled her while making his first evaluation of the patient, the only one in the House of Healing. "Has he regained consciousness?"

"Not yet, but he begins to draw near to it, as you see."

Elrond judged her assessment correct and a weak moan from the prostrate elf further validated the prognosis. Discerning eyes swept over Thranduil's second son, lying limp and paler than death upon white sheets gone sallow, sullied with sweat. Tangled hair dampened dark by the perspiration had been pulled from beneath him and hung in an ugly swath across the pillow and down the side of the bed. Still braided, it trailed almost to the boards where the ends were dyed in garish crimson that would have to be cut out. 

Erratic breaths lifted and dropped the ribcage, the impression of the bones visible beneath the muscles with every inhalation. Legolas' effort to breathe was audible, exhaled from parted lips burned maroon by the heat of the fever. Half-lidded eyes stared at nothing, glazed and glassy. Naked and shivering, his skin glistened in sickly pallor and from it arose the taint of rot and decay. Save for that last symptom, all was as Elrond expected for someone in shock from severe blood loss.

The cause of the foul odour was clear enough. Sinewy arms expertly wrapped in gauze at the wrists bore evidence of the failed suicide and one limb arched across Legolas' middle, curved near but not touching a jagged and swollen scar limned with a noisome rind of crusted yellow pus. The other arm rested beside him, fingers curled amid the linens, clutching tight with desperate pressure. The pain of such an injury must be unbearable and Elrond was dismayed, thinking on the degree of mental anguish that would permit someone to block it out.

"He did not want it treated," Sammar voiced what they were all thinking, "desiring a warrior's death rather than this."

The stricken ellon was a vision to inspire pity but a healer has no time to spare such considerations. Elrond lifted the protecting arm to better examine the infected wound and gently settled his hand over it. Even this minimal contact elicited a sharp cry from Legolas and he twitched in a futile attempt to evade the pain; this unpleasant stimulus finally thrust him into awareness. 

The prince's brow creased into lines of distress and bleary sapphire eyes blinked, wide and wild with fear, sweeping the room and lighting upon Elrond. A hard swallow was followed by an effort to wet his lips and speak, but the parched tongue could form no words. Long golden lashes fluttered down and he made a feeble effort to pull his arm loose, another faint groan punctuating his misery.

"Nay, Legolas, be still now; there is no need to speak," said Elrond soothingly and a glance to Sammar bade her take hold of the captive elbow. He verily smelled the prince's panic rise when new hands gripped him and saw realisation dawning in eyes that opened to the sound of his name. Legolas understood his effort to achieve self-destruction had failed. What he could think to find himself in the custody of strangers Elrond had no wish to imagine but he didn't need to; it was there for all to see in his tormented gaze: abandoned by his people, forsaken, left to die.

"You are safe, Legolas; Rammas found you and brought you to Imladris. I am Elrond and this is Sammar. We are healers and she has been caring for you since your arrival. That was only hours ago; you have been unconscious. There is nothing to fear; we mean only to cure these ills."

The confused gaze focused on him again. "Rammas?" A faint and rasping croak sounded the name and Elrond nodded, offering a reassuring smile, his soul aching over the sudden bloom of anxious anger chasing the single word.

"Yes, Rammas brought you here to me for healing. You will see him again when you are well, when you are stronger." The sentence rang with the weight of a solemn promise, for so it was, and quieted Legolas at once. His questioning eyes drifted shut once more and he ceased straining against Sammar's hold.

"Fetch water," Elrond directed this order to Forn'waew and carefully sat beside the patient. Lightly he settled his palm against the fiery forehead as fingers searched the slender neck for a pulse to count. The erratic beat was not encouraging but Elrond blocked his misgivings from his countenance lest Legolas see and fulfil them. Both his hands now settled firmly upon the Wood Elf's shoulders, holding him fast. 

"Legolas," he called quietly and waited until the blue eyes found his once more. "I am here to aid you but what I must do will be painful. You cannot be drugged for you have lost too much blood. Forgive me, young one, but this is necessary." With that warning he nodded to Forn'waew, who came and supplied the restraining force upon the patient, freeing the lore-master's hands. Elrond positioned the tips of his fingers over the scar and funnelled the searing light of Vilya through them into the damaged tissue. 

The nauseating scent of burning flesh filled the room and a faint haze of ghastly smoke lifted from the putrid flesh before dissipating in the fresh breeze. The next second a scream of horrific terror and agony rang through the peaceful ward, Legolas' entire body jolting in rigid protest. The unholy sound was cut off abruptly when he lost consciousness and collapsed upon the mattress. For that mercy the three healers were gratified and Elrond increased the flow of cleansing energy as Sammar laved away the effluence of pus, dead tissue, and coagulated blood forced from the gaping hole. 

The infection was deep and extensive and it was some minutes before Elrond was satisfied that all the befouled matter was removed from the cavity and the injury cleanly cauterised. He packed the wound with gauze and healing herbs and bound the gash shut. Together the trio inhaled and expelled their satisfaction over the completed treatment and shared guarded smiles.

"Well, that is one problem addressed," said Forn'waew, "but I believe that was the least of his woes." He touched compassionate fingers to one bandaged wrist, shaking his head in dismay. "I have never tended self-inflicted injuries. What sorrow must fill his spirit to demand such a horrendous remedy."

"Yes, he suffers, but mind how you speak," admonished Sammar. "Even in this state of oblivion, his feär remains alert. I have seen cases such as this and with proper care and support recovery is promising."

"Ai! I would take my observation back, were it possible, for I would see him healed and happy," asserted Forn'waew, reaching further to caress the clotted strands of hair. He could not help noticing the uncommon beauty of the ailing ellon nor prevent his reaction to it, not of desire but of deep appreciation. Someone this fair should not be lost to grief and fading.

"We all want him hale and healthy," nodded Elrond, "and I am certain his family desires nothing less than to see him ride home again." That thought spawned another and he issued new orders for his assistant. "Send word by falcon to King Thranduil, begging him make for Imladris with all haste, for his son has need of him. I will tend Legolas until the fever breaks; the two of you have earned a respite. Bring me a basin and an infusion of athelas and then you may go." When these were supplied he was left alone with his patient.

Elrond at once performed a more thorough examination, documenting Legolas general health, which was neither robust nor debilitated, and the overlying signs of fresh grief marked by the early stages of fading. Wasting had already begun, though muscle mass was not yet reduced beyond restoration, and the texture of the thick mane was rough and brittle. The teeth were still firmly seated, a good indication, but finger and toenails were cracked and yellowed, not a promising sign. 

With a sigh Elrond rose and retrieved the clinical record begun by Sammar, adding in his observations and detailing the treatment thus far. He was not yet ready to inscribe a prognosis and set the parchment down, resuming his inspection upon recalling Rammas' faulty tale of the second suicide ploy. Sensitive fingers tipped Legolas' head back to reveal a long, slender throat and there Elrond found remnant bruising, purple and yellow evidence of a noose. Yet beneath it were other marks, less distinct but more telling, and he scowled to have his suspicions so quickly confirmed. Under the ominous ribbon left by the ligature were imprints indicative of the relentless, choking pressure of strong fingers. Someone had tried to throttle Legolas and then sought to cover the crime by applying a ligature as well.

He took up the record again and scanned his colleague's comments, finding Sammar's observations and conclusions meshed with his. The assailant had to be Rammas or someone the elder prince was protecting. Inclined to believe there was no third party involved in this tragedy, Elrond's heart went out to both the King's sons, for he did not doubt that Rammas loved his brother. The violent attack was neither premeditated nor cold-blooded, but the result of a sudden and uncontrolled rage on the elder sibling's part. A volatile, explosive temper was a trait for which Oropher was legendary and such characteristics were often hereditary.

Nonetheless, it was Legolas for whom his heart bled most. What must it have been like, realising the one he loved most in all the world meant not only to abandon him but to kill him?

_Horror and sorrow enough to make him long for death in truth._

"I understand, young one, the depth of your pain. Hear me and believe, I will see you healthy and whole again, your broken heart renewed and set free from this unclean bond." He let the document rest in his lap and took up one of Legolas' cold hands, admiring the long fingers, deceptively delicate, testing the thickness of calluses created by mastery of the bow. He gave the hand an affirming squeeze and was just setting it down when he detected a faint, answering pressure. Brows high in pleased surprise, Elrond smiled. "I am honoured by your trust and will never betray it," he said quietly.

The unusual têt-a-têt was interrupted by soft footfalls marking the arrival of another ellon. Lord Erestor strode through the ward laden with a large basket, a stack of linens, his kinsman's discarded robes, several scrolls and an elegant bow tucked under his arm, and a dispatch satchel slung over his shoulder alongside the patient's pack. For all his burdens, his step was light and he managed to deposit the items neatly on the next cot. As he turned, he subjected the patient to an entirely non-clinical form of appraisal.

"Here is an uncommon sylvan and fairer by far than any of his kith and kin," he announced, meeting Elrond's tolerant gaze. "He has the looks of his mother, a Lady universally mourned amid Greenwood's populace, reputedly with ties to the people of Inwë."

The Lord of Imladris was not oblivious to the features that had so moved Forn'waew and now Erestor as well. He found himself just as drawn to the ethereal glory of the ellon under his care. Removed from awareness, the creases and shadows of pain, both physical and emotional, vanished, leaving Legolas as if reposed in peaceful slumber, save that his eyes were shut and his temperature elevated. Thranduil's second son was of a type seldom seen in Middle-earth, his exquisite countenance and perfectly proportioned body reminiscent of the Vanyarin people of whom only paintings remained. 

"There are one or two lineages of elves claiming links to the Calaquendi," Elrond replied, "but I know of none who remained behind at the Great Journey, either among the woodland elves of Greenwood or the Sindarin folk of Doriath."

"None that are documented," Erestor corrected. He watched as Elrond soaked a cloth in the athelas compound and liberally bathed Legolas' face and neck. 

An incoherent murmur arose from the prince along with a jarring shudder. Goose-flesh prickled his skin into minute peaks and his nipples tightened under the chill of the ague. He shifted restlessly atop the sheets, any semblance of peace gone as his face contorted in fresh agony and breath came and went in noisy gusts. It was some phantom of memory wakened and distorted by the fever and Elrond hastened to comfort him, again dipping the cloth in the cool water and wiping across the heaving chest and the rigid legs.

"Be still," he exhorted, tone kind and calming, "for you are safe in my care and no harm will come to you here. Leave aside sorrow and rest, Legolas, that you may be restored."

Reluctant lids cracked ajar revealing a glitter of dark sapphire that fixed on him briefly before rolling shut, but Elrond knew the impression of coherence was false. Whatever Legolas was seeing, it was locked within his mind. That it was not a pleasing scene was all too apparent, for he again cried out, this time voicing his brother's name in alarm, and thrashed against an invisible adversary. Elrond could not banish the idea that Rammas was the assailant. Abruptly Legolas uttered a strangled, gargling cry and hands flew to his throat, eyes bulging, desperation and terror in them as he gasped for air and worried his neck.

"Elbereth!" hissed Erestor, stepping forward and taking hold of the convulsing legs as Elrond caught the frantic hands.

It was a gruesome and sickening sight and instinctively Elrond drew the frightened elf close to his heart and held on, offering soothing words of distraction as he carefully rocked the prince.

"Be at peace, Legolas, you are not in danger and you can breathe freely. Draw in the sweet summer air of the valley and savour the many scents of fair Imladris. There is honeysuckle climbing over a stone wall in the garden just beyond your room. Can you detect the drop of nectar hidden inside each blossom? They were my favourite flower in my elfling days and perhaps remain so, for all their simplicity. Breathe deeply and let the fragrance fill your senses." 

The combination of words and motion freed him from torturing memories and Legolas grew still once more. Cautiously Elrond laid him down and met his seneschal's sombre gaze.

"At least he responds to you," said Erestor, thinking the unfotunate elf would not survive the day but knowing such opinions were not permitted voice in the House of Healing. Still, he had known Elrond all his life and had seen the son of Eärendil heal worse cases than this one, though their number was small. "A positive development despite the nightmare."

"Yes, I deem it a significant and hopeful indication, considering his heart is compromised. I believe the fever will break before sundown," Elrond replied with conviction, knowing the power of suggestion was at least as potent as any herbs or cures he might employ. He resumed the cooling sponge bath. "What were you able to learn?"

"Little of merit, yet that in itself may be more instructive," Erestor gave a small shrug that lent his long ebony tresses a quick wave of motion and sat cross-legged on the floor beside the sick bed, hands settling comfortably on either knee. "The warrior who claims to be Legolas' closest friend describes the prince as quiet and reserved, serious of demeanour, intelligent and observant, the best archer in his company, and inclined to remain apart form his peers. He has politely refused all offers of a romantic nature and so the idea of unrequited love seems improbable, at least to those who know him."

"You deem that 'little'?" Elrond sent his kinsman a quizzical look which was returned with a wry grin.

"Indeed, it is little enough for I hoped to learn what has happened to bring the King's youngest to such a low point," Erestor rejoined.

"Did this friend not find it strange for Legolas to be so disinterested in securing a mate?"

"According to this ellon, named Gilion, a second cousin on the maternal line, the general consensus is that Legolas is without the normal urges, feeling desire for neither male nor female, a consequence of his long-standing battle with grief since his mother's demise. Gilion could relate nothing unusual in recent days and Legolas reported no news to him, of either good or ill fate."

"Nothing?" Elrond paused in his treatment and peered at Erestor. "What of his brother's betrothal?"

Erestor shrugged again. "Gilion mentioned it in passing; apparently Legolas' reaction was conciliatory."

"It was told to me by Rammas that Legolas was placed on enforced leave for courting death. Was this not revealed?"

"Nay. If this is true then it has been suppressed from general knowledge. Gilion believes the extended respite is in accord with the lengthy deployment and the seriousness of his friend's injuries." Erestor's eyes lit on the wide band of white gauze encircling the prince's middle and he motioned to it. "That much seems a valid assumption."

"Perhaps," Elrond shook his head, dissatisfied with the notion. Now he had to wonder if this part of Rammas' story was also false. Searching his memory provided no recollection of misdirection, but admittedly he was focusing on the secret relationship between the brothers more than the account of the captain's findings. "What else?"

Erestor, having waited out his kinsman's moment of introspection, smiled with conspiratorial glee and rose from the floor. Two strides carried him to the articles on the bed and he rummaged in the patient's pack. With a fitting flourish of triumph he held out to Elrond a small leather-clad volume bound shut with a length of braided golden hair. "He kept a journal of his days in service. Perhaps there is information within that might guide you."

Elrond physically retreated from the offered book, simultaneously recognising that the woven tresses came from Rammas. "I would not violate his private thoughts thus, Erestor. Replace it at once."

"As you wish but it has already been opened and perused by the brother and by Gilion. They hoped to learn what ails Legolas and deemed the breech of trust a lesser evil than failing to aid him if they might."

"You have not met with Rammas," said Elrond darkly, furious with the elder prince, convinced he had read the diary only to learn if his secret was safe or not. "Erestor, I would ask that you personally give our guest a tour of the realm and see that my decree concerning his visit is carried out to the letter." Knowing his tone was enough to alert the wily seneschal that there was something amiss, Elrond continued. "I will have need of our swiftest messenger tonight. I am sending King Thranduil news of his son and expect he will arrive here within days of receiving it."

"I guessed as much and Faelon stands ready even now," Erestor's eyes glittered and he could not quite suppress the excitement in his voice, eager to get at the elder prince, as surely his Lord and kinsman meant him to do. Well he knew Elrond's use of wording and an official decree was reserved for matters of the most serious import. As for the 'tour', this was nothing less than a covert request to interview the Sindarin prince and submit his observations for comparison with Elrond's. This was a tactic the two only employed when truth was in question and crimes had been committed. "I will ensure Ernil Rammas and his people are afforded the full measure of our hospitality."

"Thank you," Elrond shared his silent outrage with his oldest friend and nodded. He bathed Legolas' fevered forehead and carefully wiped across the closed eyes, noting with satisfaction that the muscles reacted to the point that the lids parted minutely before sealing up once more. He smiled, certain the prince would awaken again before Anor set.

Erestor smiled, too, and replaced the pilfered journal, pleased that Elrond had rejected it, as expected. The whole act had been designed to inform the Lord of Imladris of Rammas' abuse of Legolas' privacy while reinforcing the unconscious prince's budding trust in Elrond. 

Since the seneschal was already on his feet, he set about organising the things he'd toted in, knowing Elrond would remain with his patient until he was satisfied Legolas would recover fully. The famed lore-master was a healer first and foremost, a ruler second. Per an agreement reached more than an Age ago, whenever there was a case this serious Erestor took over the daily tasks of governance and management of the household and Elrond moved into the House of Healing. Indeed, there was a small apartment, three rooms and a private bathing chamber, built at the far end of the ward for this purpose, and there Erestor organised his kinsman's temporary quarters. It did not take long for Elrond was in the habit of leaving clothing and necessities here. With the chore completed, Erestor returned to the ailing elf's bedside.

"I'll order broth and juice brought up for him with your evening meal," he said, supporting the renowned healer's instincts regarding the patient's improvement.

"Will you join me?"

"Of course," Erestor grinned, "I'm intrigued by this Calaquendi of the forest and must confess a desire to see for myself 'eyes as pure and bright and warm as the very finest summer sky'. So Gilion describes his cousin and I deem he bears more than brotherly affection for his young prince."

Elrond arched a brow in mock censure. "I can believe that and don't think I missed the close inspection you passed over the invalid's physique. Yet I must forbid any flirting, mellon, until he is strong enough to fend off your advances!"

"So be it, but only until then," laughed Erestor, but then he became thoughtful and his roguish grin softened. "No one should suffer such lonely despair. I feel strongly this is an ellon deprived of love and that is a perversion of Eru's design. I would show him what it is to be loved." Then he caught his kinsman's surprised expression and a faint flush of colour climbed to his cheeks. He turned and left before Elrond could comment on his heartfelt admission. 

Elrond gazed after the usually cavalier seneschal in bemused wonder, transferring his regard to the insensible Wood Elf once Erestor was beyond sight. He chuckled softly and rose, raising Legolas' shoulders in order to draw the damp hair from behind him once more. He allowed his hope to advance, for the prince's skin was no longer so unbearable hot. Settling him back against the pillows, he caught another fleeting glimpse of the eyes that inspired such romantic words.

"Well, young one, what think you of this development? My kinsman fancies you. In Imladris, that is considered a most enviable circumstance in which to find oneself. Erestor is noble and considerate, as well as quite becoming. So the eligible folk of the vale say, I admit he is just Erestor to me, too familiar to inspire much appreciation for his face and form."

That last was not entirely true, but Elrond felt justified in keeping his past romances private.

Expecting no answer, he was unprepared for the deep intake of breath that followed and watched with gladness as the exhaled air carried with it much of the strain and tension from the prince's features. Legolas blinked once and then the lids rose halfway as the pale tongue briefly darted out to soothe his lower lip. He was focused and alert and with effort mouthed a single word: 'nen'. Absolutely ecstatic, Elrond hurried to bring him a cup of water and supported him for the three sips he was able to swallow. The eyes were shut again before his head reached the pillow but it mattered not; Legolas' brow was cool to the touch and his respiration steady and deep. The fever had broken. 

TBC

The Names:  
RAMMAS: Wall  
TALAGAN: Harper  
MUINDORADAR: Uncle (brother-father)  
FORN'WAEW: North Wind  
SAMMAR: Neighbour  
GILION: Star Son

 


	3. Chapter 3

# Fractured Light

# The Scent of Honeysuckle

Legolas was no stranger to pain and indeed the sensation had been increasing steadily over the course of recent days, but today the persistent ache that awakened him was different. It was the kind of throbbing, caustic stab that kept time with his pulse; a regular, measured advance and retreat of sharpness that told him his heart was no longer struggling to push blood through his veins. Today it was cleansing, a healing pain as opposed to that which portends death. He welcomed the familiar, nagging discomfort felt in the body when wounds were on the mend. 

Gone was the heat and the unbearable sense of weight bearing down upon his chest, inhibiting his every breath. Gone was the hideous impression of a vicious snake buried beneath his lungs, pushing against his muscles and bones, writhing its way up, pressing against the skin so that it must surely burst through and tear him open. All that remained of the killing pain was a parching thirst as of ashen sand upon his tongue. Banished were the vague and fearsome visions of death and darkness and abandonment. Legolas shuddered, turning his thoughts away from that, focusing his senses outward now that his assessment of his health was satisfied.

He was clean now, too; the smell of his blood absent while the light touch of soft silk graced his skin. If he wasn't hurting so much he would stretch in the luxuriant delight of the soft mattress and downy pillows, wriggle his toes under the cool, crisp sheets, and turn on his side to burrow into the pocket of warmth created by his own body. He knew better than that and refrained, instead holding still while extending the invisible tentacles of awareness into the space beyond the bed. 

The room was enclosed but filled with air and light, though he knew it must be aduial by the distinctive chirping call of swifts snatching food on the wing. He could not be in the palace yet neither was he amid the trees. The calming circulation of the natural breeze moved gently through the space and brought the sweet scent of honeysuckle inside. It was perplexing; there was a hearth with a fire supplying the commonplace sounds of all domesticated conflagrations, crackling and murmuring benignly, like hunting dogs whose barks and growls no longer menaced but served.

He heard voices nearby and yet removed, not in the room but not far beyond it. Quiet but distinct, these were masterful voices, their owners undoubtedly the owners of the place where he rested. One was deep and thoughtful, a lordly voice, the sonorous tones rich and filled with wisdom; the other was sharper, shorter, calculating: an assassin's voice. Strength, confidence, friendship, and power resonated within every syllable traded between them and suffused the air. The speakers were male; they were elves; and instinct insisted they were discussing him. Legolas stilled himself to listen.

"…denied any knowledge of the cause of his brother's despair and argued most assiduously for the right to visit Legolas ere departing," the assassin droned. "His Royal Highness even posited dire political ramifications should he be denied access to his brother, saying your orders exceeded the bounds of a healer's duty. He hinted broadly that keeping Legolas here against the wishes of his kin borders on captivity."

"Did he?" the lord replied with a snort of derisive scorn. "I suppose he would have us believe Thranduil will consider his youngest child my hostage."

"Something very like. I was not displeased to see him leave."

"I, too, hoped he would go at once. His presence endangers Legolas. Knowing the message is already in flight, he hopes to arrive home before my full report is delivered into Thranduil's hands. Faelon did not go forth without an escort?"

"No, though I strongly doubt the woodland folk would accost him. What Rammas might wish to do and what the rest of the Greenwood contingent will permit are two very different undertakings."

_Rammas! Gone?_  

The idea blazed through his brain and momentarily deafened his acute ears. His heart gave a horrendous, tearing leap against his ribs, so hard it felt the muscle would collapse, and he knew then it must be so. Rammas was no longer here and now that the notion was before him, Legolas realised it was not physical anguish that had wakened him but this rending sense of loss. Vehemently reason rejected the truth but denial could not hold against the onslaught of despair. Rammas would not leave him here in this unknown place with folk who were not of their kin, yet exactly that had he done.

Acceptance immediately generated a wave of relief which inundated Legolas' aching soul, yet right in its billowing wake trailed guilty remorse so intense it was like the pain of a fresh wound. It was impossible to draw breath and his hands reached for his throat. Fingertips brushed the neat, pristine wrappings covering the ugly gashes he knew were there and memory returned. 

In the span of a few frantic heartbeats he relived it all: his begging, Rammas' rejection, their heated argument, cold cruel words condemning him, his desperate flight across the plains in the night, the scramble to throw off his pursuers, sending his horse one way while he went another, diving into the thicket, panic as his vambraces fought removal, relief over the bright glint of moonlight on metal and the sudden, icy bite of the steel blade, calm acceptance as the thick, red torrent flowed from his body and painted the ground with a dark, wet stain. 

Now he was in this unknown place, Mandos denied him. He forced his eyes open and stared at the bandaging, furious and bewildered, for who had found him and carried him here was a complete blank. He hadn't strength to keep his arms up and they dropped heavily against his chest, thumping rudely against the wretched gash across his belly. He exhaled a low groan and dragged his limbs to his sides, labouring for breath. His next mental image was a hazy one of a healer who brought agony in his touch and comfort in his words. Anger blazed through his heart with this thought, for what solace could he ever know save that of death and oblivion?

The voices drifted into awareness again and he recognised that healer's distinctive tone; in spite of his anger, he listened. The normal, regular intonation of ordinary conversation was surreal juxtaposed beside his suffocating misery and it was enough to make him wish to laugh, save his heart would not permit it.

"Rammas may just meet his father on the way, if I know anything of Thranduil."

"Do you?"

"Enough to believe he will not allow his youngest child to fade in a foreign land with only strangers to comfort him. He would ride three horses to collapse in order to get here as fast as Gwaihir flies, watch and see."

_Ada! I need you here!_

Yet what could he do or say should he come? What could Legolas say to him; how even to meet the pain in those suffering eyes? Legolas knew he could never face him and own the anguish he had caused. Twice he had refused to confide in him despite his father's persistence, yet what other alternative was there? He could never reveal the ugly secret. Rammas was right, he was twisted and perverse to hope to continue the affair. It was no bond of love and devotion but one of base lust and coarse need. Rammas did not feel its pull any longer; why did he? 

_Yet he would have us both: her in honour and glory, me in shame and disgust. And still I love him; I cannot help but need him. Nay, these are things Ada must never know._

The memory of Thranduil's frustration and sorrow assaulted Legolas with fresh remorse and now was there affliction sufficient to call forth bitter tears. To see his father on his knees, pleading for answers, promising anything and everything, begging forgiveness for neglect spawned by grief, this had been the breaking point and Legolas wept at the horror of it. How could he live knowing he had inflicted his burden upon his Adar, for surely he would fade this time? How could everyone expect him to just sail away to paradise carrying his Ada's death in his soul? Would not the Valar condemn him for such an unforgivable crime, to say nothing of the sin of becoming his brother's lover? Better to die now and plead mercy of Námo. At least he would see his father there.

_Nay, he must not come here!_

He must have uttered some groan or cry for the faraway murmur of voices abruptly stopped and he felt the presence of other folk round his bed. Reluctantly he opened his eyes and found his sight filled with a visage cast in compelling planes of wisdom, power, and deep compassion. Long black tresses framed the face, pooling on Legolas' shoulder with a whisper of sound and feathery pressure. The grey eyes were familiar and the depth of knowledge within them keen, their expression one of anxious concern mixed with hope. It was the healer and at first Legolas recoiled, his body instinctively fearing the pain it recalled, but then a calming hand settled on his shoulder and the lordly voice surrounded him.

"Be at peace, Legolas, for you are safe here. You are in Imladris, young one, under my care, for you are injured and ill with grief. Have you any memory of seeing me earlier?"

Legolas' face must have expressed his incredulity to be asked this for the second elf, the assassin, loosed an appreciative chuckle.

"I would lay odds he remembers that encounter, Elrond," Erestor remarked, not without sympathy, and leaned over his kinsman's shoulder, smiling when the patient's eyes located him. "I am called Erestor; welcome to Imladris, Legolas."

Legolas gaped at him, confused by the change in tone from brusque sarcasm to warm sincerity when this perilous elf spoke his name. Faint and disjointed auditory memories sounded through his mind, the voice of this assassin, this Erestor, talking quietly of love. Love for him? It was bewildering and suddenly Legolas found his overwhelming dread and despair lessened. He could breathe and did so, inhaling deeply as his sight returned to the healer. 

It was at that moment he remembered the name Erestor had spoken and his eyes popped wide. The great legend returned his gaze with combined approval, satisfaction, and welcome. Somehow, someway this renowned descendant of the three kindreds knew him and was glad to have him here in fabled Imladris. Lately, Legolas had come to believe his very existence was a hindrance and a burden to everyone. He wished he had strength to express his gratitude.

It must have shown in his eyes for the lordly countenance immediately broke into a wide grin and the voice spoke, a soothing, mellow timbre to the simple elegance of the formal words.

"Mae govannen, Legolas Thranduilion, Ernil o Gladgalen Dhaer. Elrond, Hîr od Imladris, le suila. (Well met, Legolas son of Thranduil, Prince of Greenwood the Great. Elrond, Lord of Imladris, greets you.) Ai! Do not speak, young one; rest and be at peace." Elrond was glad to see the remarkable eyes unclouded and perceptive, pleased as the rain of silent tears diminished and dried up. 

He perched on the edge of the bed and carefully wiped away the damp tracks of fresh sorrow. He had expected to see it yet found the sensation of the salty flux against his skin distressing, for Legolas had no strength to shield his heart and soul or even to deny such contact. He was vulnerable and defenceless in the company of strangers. Elrond slipped his arm beneath Legolas' neck and raised his head so that he could drink from the cup Erestor was thoughtful enough to provide. The Lord of Imladris shared a subdued smile with his seneschal; they were both thinking of Gilion's description of the vibrant blue irises peering at them in open awe over the rim of the glass.

Legolas guzzled the cool water, frantic for more as soon as it was gone and silently imploring a second helping. He was answered immediately and gulped so quickly he inhaled a mouthful and started to gag. The cup was removed and his back gently rubbed as he sputtered and coughed and caught his breath, strangled moans joining the unwholesome mix of sounds as the old wound protested with brutal intensity. The experience was exhausting and his eyes closed as he found himself fighting for air. He clung to the sturdy arm supporting him. 

Gradually the pain diminished to a hot and hollow throbbing and the burning in his lungs stopped. Competent hands propped him against the pillows and then a cold chill ran through him. He blinked his eyes open and shivered. His distress had raised a fine film of perspiration and fresh air ghosted over his bare chest as the healer opened his night-shirt to make sure he was not bleeding again. 

It was humiliating; he was completely helpless and could do nothing but submit to whatever indignities his treatment might demand. Of course he'd been stripped and inspected and washed and treated and bandaged, all with clinical precision for necessity's sake, but it was still demeaning. These were not the healers of his father's House, people he knew well and who had known him since his birth. All at once he hated Rammas for leaving him to endure the compassion of strangers. The soft fabric envelop him once more and he heaved a deep breath, not realising until then how rigidly he'd held himself under the simple exam. 

"Excellent," Elrond's said. "The dressing will need to be changed before Ithil sets, but the injury remains dry and emits no heat." He pressed his fingers to Legolas' throat to check his pulse and watched lines of aggravation and weariness furrow the prince's brow. It was not hard to guess the source of either sensation and he smiled kindly, though Legolas would not open his eyes.

"Do not be downcast. Your vigour will return, but too much of your blood was spilled and it will take your body a little while to replenish it. This is especially true given the wound you already had, which was infected, and the abuses you have borne," he said quietly. Another sigh passed Legolas' lips and then Elrond was treated to an aggrieved blue stare.

He smiled in spite of that morose expression, or perhaps to counter it, and smoothed away the few strands of golden hair that had come free in the fit of coughing. He was not certain, but the texture of the hair seemed less rough than before and Elrond could not quite resist another swift pass through the soft flaxen locks. Long lashes drifted shut as Legolas drew and released an easier breath and subtly, unconsciously turned into the touch. Elrond felt his heart freeze and feared to move; indeed, he feared to breathe so wondrous was the sensation against his palm. 

Beside the bed, Erestor cleared his throat and met his kinsman's look of flustered self-reprisal with perceptive compassion. Elrond snatched back his hand and Legolas' startled, uncomprehending. He shifted in discomfort and at once Elrond moved to assist him. Erestor suppressed a sigh. It was so simple to divine his kinsman's thoughts: as the principal healer over this ellon, it wouldn't do to fall under the spell of his ailing patient. Erestor understood the bond developing on Legolas' part was inevitable and necessary for his survival, but that was not what inspired the seneschal's pathos. It was the attraction of the noble Lord for the lesser Prince that moved him.

"Perhaps you should see if he can stomach the broth," Erestor suggested, tone soft with understanding, his expression open and encouraging. 

If permission from him would alter his kinsman's determination to reject such a match, Erestor was pleased to grant it, but this would never be enough to break the lore-master's self-imposed constraints. Elrond had not taken a lover since things between them had cooled, and that was a pity for no one deserved the comfort and love of a companion so much as the selfless son of Eärendil. He planted a consoling hand upon his kinsman's shoulder and squeezed lightly.

"Stay; I will retrieve it." He did so and then made his excuses. "I must have Glorfindel's report on the trouble in Dunnland and then prepare the agenda for the traders' council two days hence. I'll send Forn'waew to gather the refuse of our meal, shall I? Say, in two hours?"

"Aye, that will be fine, Erestor," Elrond replied but his old friend was already striding from the bedroom, glancing behind with a thoroughly inappropriate leer that was disturbingly provocative. Elrond set the earthenware mug on the small table by the bed and faced his patient. Legolas' eyes were trained on the door through which the seneschal had just exited, a bewildered expression wrinkling his brow. So he had seen it, too. Elrond frowned; what the heart-broken ellon did not need was another hopeless romantic attachment.

"Pay him no mind, Legolas; Erestor enjoys teasing me. We are distant cousins but were raised together. He is a dear friend and closer than a brother in many ways." That proved to be an unpleasant reference for Legolas; his stricken and wounded eyes whipped back to Elrond's for a second or two and then sealed shut as he turned his face away. "Aiya! I won't exhort you not to mourn, but I intend to impose strict limits on the degree to which you may indulge your grief."

"Indulge?" Legolas rasped. He could not have heard correctly. "It isn't a choice."

As expected, his unlikely command distracted Legolas and the sorrowful eyes, bright with new tears as yet unfallen, focused on Elrond with sharp censure. He gave a solemn nod and assumed his most sage and lordly expression.

"Yes, there is choice. Rammas is not dead, Legolas, and neither are you. I know that right now it feels as though you are dead to him, but it is not so. He still loves you dearly and in time this terrible rift between you will heal. How long the division remains is up to you." Legolas' mouth popped open in indignant disbelief but Elrond did not pause. "This is not something you can yet believe so you will have to trust to my greater knowledge and experience in such matters. My goal is to acquaint you with the power you have over your own fate and teach you to exercise it effectively."

Elrond let that sink in and watched as incredulous wonder filled the prince's eyes. Being dependent upon Rammas since the age of ten summers, how could he ever have conceived such a thought? Now the learned healer plunged into the dark depths of the matter. He had considered long how to handle the illicit affair and decided that pretence did not serve Legolas, who had been trained to keep his heart's dearest feelings secret. Nay, the situation called for an open and direct exposure of the truth.

"You are not the first ellon to fall in love with his brother, nor will you be the only one ever to survive the breaking of such a forbidden bond." Elrond paused and watched shock and fear transform Legolas' comely face. He smiled kindly and then set about raising his charge to a more upright position as though the conversation was the most commonplace imaginable.

"Worry not; your privacy will be respected, young one, and Rammas did not betray you. He would not, for to do so he must own his crimes and that he is not ready to do." Elrond watched golden brows arch high and nodded seriously. "I am a healer; the marks told me all I need to know." Gently he let his hand touch upon the bruised throat and Legolas gasped.

"Was my doing," Legolas insisted, stricken to know he had somehow let this shameful horror get out. Had he spoken while in the grip of fever?

"No." Elrond negated the prince's guilty thoughts. "The other attempts you must claim but in all my experience I have never known of any person capable of throttling himself with his own two hands. Let us leave that for now; I have no wish for you to suffer more than you already have done. Yet neither will I abet the secrecy you crave for such does not promote healing. I know what happened; you know what happened. Together we will find means to overcome it." With that Elrond took up the broad, round mug and the spoon. "Now then, before any healing of the heart can begin, your physical health must be restored. I want you to try and consume at least half this bowl of soup."

Legolas was utterly stunned and obediently opened his mouth as the brimming spoon neared, swallowing the mouthful as the Elven Lord's words rang through his heart. It was disorienting and frightening; he'd never heard anyone speak aloud such atrocities. He certainly could not and Rammas had not liked to talk about what was between them even before that horrible fight. Yet it was his fault and not Rammas'; the mighty Lord did not understand for he had not been there to see it, to hear the awful things Legolas said, the ugly threats he'd made.

At the same time, he could not help feeling heartened by what the learned lore-master had said. Elrond was a name and a personage that garnered only respect, admiration, even awe among elf-kind of every realm on Arda. Even mortal folk sought his advise and aid. If such a wise, intelligent ellon believed there was hope then Legolas was eager to adopt that opinion. 

Hope quickly evolved into certainty. He and Rammas would be reunited; had this legendary Lord among elves not ordained it? Aye, and the darkest of the brothers' deeds Elrond treated as any other condition with which a healer might be presented. Legolas submitted to being fed without protest, his fractured psyche feeding on the great healer's pronouncements, lost in an almost euphoric daydream of days to come when Rammas would put aside his atrocious bride and beg him to resume their life together. He managed a shy smile between swallows, eyes gleaming with gratitude.

Elrond knew his determined course of treatment was sound, but did feel a rather severe twinge of conscience over that smile. He kept his misgivings hidden, knowing that his young patient's hearing was selective and had recorded only what best meshed with his broken heart's dearest wishes. The reference to breaking the brothers' unnatural bond had passed by without impact; Legolas imagined that he and Rammas' would remain a couple. 

He was forestalling fading by allowing Legolas to nurture this false hope, yes, but with the prince's physical health also compromised, Elrond had no other viable option. He needed time to rebuild Legolas' strength before forcing him to see the truth. The moment of realisation and acceptance, when it came, would be neither easy nor free of danger. There was no guarantee he would survive it and no certainty, should he live, that his soul would not darken in bitterness and self-pity. 

Both fates Elrond had witnessed in trying to restore the fractured light of a shattered soul. There was no denying such hurts were nearly impervious to magic or to medicine. Grief was deadly and fading a slow and excruciating end. He did not wonder over Legolas' efforts to secure another means to die. Indeed, Elrond's success rate in mending ruptured hearts was as dismal as any other healer's. Only once had he prevented death and while that made him the only healer ever to do so, he could not count it a success. Just once, the case personal, the circumstances tragic, the result unbearable enough to plunge him and all his family into despair. 

Not all his store of knowledge and wisdom, nor the glory of the Ring of Air, nor the fullness of his abiding love had prevented Celebrian from falling to the diminishing doom of a darkened spirit. Her acidic words and furious hatred devastated him; she blamed him for condemning her to a shameful existence, eternity endured under the pall of a blighted soul and tainted light.

She renounced him; even worse she renounced her children, her parents, and her very self. As soon as her ship raised sail, she turned and cast her wedding band over the rails and into the harbour, cursing Elrond with such vile words that elves fled from the quay and Galadriel broke down in hysterical tears. 

Losing her was the very worst experience of all his long life and he had still not fully recovered, though so much time had since past into history, nor had his sons. 

While these thoughts ran through his mind, Elrond had been carefully spooning the rich brown broth into the quiet ellon's mouth, noting subconsciously his efforts to obey and finish at least half. Unexpectedly, a bandaged arm lifted to block the next spoonful and Elrond returned to the present with a start. He found solemn blue eyes studying him intently and blinked, offering a faint-hearted smile. He meant to apologise for his distraction but could not make the word stake form, uncomfortable under the penetrating stare. 

There was something unexpected in the youthful blue eyes and it perplexed him. He sought to define it; what could this elf know of him? At that he inhaled sharply for it was recognition and empathy he saw in those troubled depths. Elrond was both shocked and dismayed for he had not meant to burden Legolas with his own sorrow. He had to break from those eyes! Before he could gather his wits, the young prince spoke.

"I am sorry for your loss," he said simply, the words faint in volume but replete with sincere and kindly commiseration. 

Several seconds of silence passed by as Elrond gaped dumbly, unable to fully encompass what had just happened.

"Thank you." By supreme effort he finally managed the brief reply, finding his throat suddenly tight and his eyes burning with tears of his own. 

Stunned by the impact of this suffering elf's insight, he rose quickly, carrying away the nearly empty mug. Needing to collect himself, he tidied up the mess in the sitting room left by his and Erestor's meal. That done, he returned to the bedside to discover Legolas' eyes were closed, the patient submerged deep in a healing slumber once more, and Elrond carefully eased him into a more comfortable position on the bed. After that, he sat down and could only stare at this most unusual and perceptive young warrior.

"Great is the strength of your spirit," he murmured, "and I begin to see how Rammas was drawn to possess it."

TBC

The Names:  
RAMMAS: Wall  
TALAGAN: Harper  
MUINDORADAR: Uncle (brother-father)  
FORN'WAEW: North Wind  
SAMMAR: Neighbour  
GILION: Star Son


	4. Chapter 4

# Fractured Light

### Dissecting Tragedy

Two full weeks disappeared into history before the young prince's wounds were nearly healed. The process had taken considerably longer than normal but no less could be expected when grief was involved. Legolas co-operated with every aspect of his treatment, motivated to get well by Elrond's promise of restoring him to Rammas. Dutifully he consumed whatever curative potion Elrond presented, forced himself to eat regularly, fought the urge to retch afterwards, and quietly accepted the daily indignities incurred by his weakened constitution, eyes averted from Forn'waew's competent and efficient hands.

Elrond credited this abashed pride with providing the impetus to recover his strength as quickly as he had, more so than the desire to return home to his brother. The warriors of the woodland realm were famous for this attitude of inordinate superiority and self-reliance, but in this instance he was glad for it. Elrond never hesitated to express approval and admiration for Legolas' determined efforts tend his basic needs unaided, if not unsupervised. Even the constant surveillance elicited no complaint and the lore-master believed Legolas actually craved the company, fearing to be left alone with his sorrow.

The Lord of Imladris watched over his young charge with nothing less than fascination. Radically different from his brother, Legolas was capable of a quiet stillness unlike anything Elrond had ever observed. He could sit without moving for hours, experiencing the world around him on a sensory level profound even for elves, the only detectable motion the slight expansion and contraction of his diaphragm to draw breath. Even this was controlled, so minimal it required close scrutiny to discern it. 

He had first marked the gift on Legolas' fourth day in Imladris. After Forn'waew cleaned and dressed the stubborn gash across the prince's midriff, Elrond suggested some fresh air might prove beneficial. Legolas visibly relaxed once settled in the sheltered courtyard by the honeysuckle and promptly dropped into what was nearly a trance, head up, eyes half-lidded, nostrils flared, hands gripping the arms of his chair. There was an energy about the pose almost of excitement; a subtle expression that hinted of a smile softening the touch of pain and sorrow. Reluctant to intrude on this strange meditation, Elrond and Forn'waew sat down and waited, refraining from speech out of inborn respect for all forms of spiritual expression. 

Hours passed. Lord and apprentice shared a look and Forn'waew left to fetch the noon meal. With its arrival Legolas returned from the unusual state the renowned lore-master could only describe as removed awareness. When asked what he had been doing, for it was not a form of reverie according to the healer's knowledge, Legolas offered a pleased smile and explained he was 'learning Imladris'. He claimed to be familiar with all the wild things, plant and animal, residing in the Lord's estate as well as the domesticated varieties of the same and many of the elven inhabitants, too. When Forn'waew challenged him, Legolas proceeded to accurately describe the grounds and the people in it with a degree of detail normally impossible for someone who had never been there before.

Considering it now, Elrond supposed this was a sylvan characteristic and could not help wondering how Legolas had developed it while Rammas had not. They were of the same heritage and it could be argued that Rammas had the raising of Legolas for the most part. That his influence did not reach this functional plane was interesting, almost as though Legolas had in some manner shielded sections of his mind from his brother. Of course, Rammas had been highly upset during his interview with Elrond and with good cause; perhaps that had generated the fitful agitation. Even so, Legolas did not resemble his brother in any way at all, neither face nor form nor personality.

The disparity in appearance was most readily apparent and Elrond naturally catalogued Legolas' smaller stature, slighter build, and uncommon beauty before anything else. The first two traits he initially attributed to the depth of grief the ellon had suffered in his early years, but Rammas seemed not to have experienced the same hindered growth. This suggested another possibility, one he could not discount after Legolas' immediate outpouring of empathetic support that first night. Rammas may have been drawing strength from his younger brother, responding instinctively to the open source of light and love Legolas' compromised soul offered. 

There was precedent for such a thing among the Galadhrim. Elrond had come to know a trio of brothers orphaned during the rampage of Durin's Bain. In the aftermath of the tragedy, the eldest, just barely of age according to Noldorin tradition, supported the youngest who lent some of this strength to the middle one, who readily shared with both his brothers. The three created a closed circle of souls which not only conserved and prevented loss of the raw energy of their combined essences but actually worked to enhance and magnify it. Somehow, the sylvans had an instinct that allowed the three brothers to take on between them the nurturing role of the parents' light.

How, Elrond wondered, had Legolas been able to offer Rammas this kind of substitution but Rammas had not? It could not have been deliberate on the elder prince's part. No matter his failings, Thranduil's heir did love his little brother and truly believed he was the one who had prevented Legolas from fading. Perhaps he had given of his soul but to a lesser degree or in a different manner. Mayhap his need had provided Legolas the reason to live he required.

Elrond waited patiently while his unique guest remained in removed awareness, suspecting Legolas was testing the very air itself for evidence of his father's progress.

_Or the arrival of a messenger._

He knew Legolas had written and sent two missives addressed to Rammas and one to his father. Thranduil had readily replied, the brief note carried on falcon's wing so that Legolas would not wonder if his words were received: 'Be strong, hen vaethoren, I will be there soon.' That had given Legolas great joy and the first real smile since their talk of mending things with Rammas. The elder prince had not seen fit, as yet, to respond to his brother's letters.

The worried healer was not sure if he felt relieved or furious over this. Legolas needed to realise his brother's feelings were not sympathetic, yet it was so utterly wrong for the ellon to ignore the desperate communication of someone so dear, so close to death, so dependent upon him.

_Another example of how different they are, one from another. Legolas would never have left Rammas alone here much less refrained from corresponding during the separation._

Legolas seemed unaware there was anything unusual about the disparity between his attributes and his brother's, if he marked them at all. Curious to draw his evaluation of this, Elrond broke into the woodland warrior's silent communion with nature, commenting directly, and rather abruptly, on Rammas' close resemblance to their father. 

"Aye, he is very like Adar," Legolas replied, eyes shining with admiration, a warm smile temporarily easing the lines of strain and exhaustion from his countenance. The introduction of the topic did not appear to distress or startle him. Even so, his expression turned somewhat rueful and twisted into sadness. "I am like our naneth, a fact which caused Ada no small amount of pain as I grew."

"Tell me of her," Elrond said, for he knew little of the Lady Thranduil had made his Queen, not even her name. Official announcement of the marriage had gone out but in it she was only given her formal title: Rîn Hadroniell o Gladgalen Dhaer, (Crowned Lady of Greenwood the Great, daughter of Hadron). To this query Legolas first remained silent, gazing inward as his face took on a pronounced cast of desolate sorrow. Elrond was just about to retract his request when Legolas spoke.

"I don't remember her at all," he said, eyes focused far away. "I try, but there is nothing." He searched Elrond's feastures, disturbed by the admission. "Is that not terrible, to forget one's own mother?"

"Nay," Elrond was nonplussed but did his best to bury the sensation for Legolas' tone betrayed his desire to be contradicted. 

He had imagined the brothers would share what memories they had between them, so to keep her close, ever alive in their hearts. Thus had it been for him and Elros. Now he was forced to separate his experience from his patient's and gave careful thought to Legolas' mental state at the time of his loss before elaborating. 

"That is to say, it is terrible you were forced to suffer such a loss, but there is nothing wrong on your part in failing to recall her. You were quite young when she died. It is likely your soul could not bear the anguish of such memories and erased them. It was not something you wilfully chose."

"No," Legolas was quiet awhile and then presented another glance, this one diffident but grateful. "I've never told anyone this, not even Rammas. Somehow she just vanished; I'm not even sure when. One day Rammas was talking about her, how sorrowful she would become whenever he got in trouble, how making her cry was worse punishment than a whipping from Galion. I couldn't see her, couldn't imagine her, not the colour of her eyes or the scent of her, not the shape of her mouth or even how she wore her hair. Nothing. I…I started crying."

"How old were you then?" Elrond asked, not surprised to find evidence of tears in the young prince's hastily averted eyes.

"About twenty or so," Legolas shrugged. "I'm not really sure, even now, exactly how old I am. We stopped celebrating when she died."

Elrond blinked but otherwise his concern was not apparent. Rammas certainly knew Legolas' age; had he never made reference to it in all this time?

"What of your Coll O Gwaith? (Mantle of Manhood - Coming of Age) Surely that event was recognised?"

"Nay." Legolas said simply, another shrug brushing off the discontent that omission obviously brought him. This time he was uncomfortable in the silence that followed and showed what passed for nervousness for him: running his fingers down the length of one narrow braid behind his left ear. Then he released a faint sigh through his nostrils and gave a meagre smile. "I have an image of her. Would you like to see it?"

"I would," Elrond smiled back, intrigued, watching as Legolas went to his pack and withdrew the very journal Erestor had once presented. 

His fingertips lovingly traced across the braided closure and then he settled next to Elrond in the window seat, opening the book as he did. He presented the volume with a smile. "Elo! (Behold!) I have her eyes, surely."

Elrond peered at the faded sketch of the fair young Queen, her face laughing and eyes bright with love. She was indeed petite and the shape of her visage much like Legolas' own, and while the picture was not tinted, the lore-master could detect the similarity in personalities revealed in her expression. He nodded, smiling, and evaluated the elf beside him against the Lady's likeness.

"Much like you and she must be the source for the colour of your eyes, for to my knowledge Oropher's bloodline usually produces green or hazel irises. That clear azure is most uncommon." He paused, watching Legolas' expression light up with quiet joy as he nodded assent. "Most becoming, as well," he added and was gratified when Legolas grinned and blushed together. 

Elrond laughed softly and handed the book back, wondering if he should pursue this tangent. He decided to brave it; after all, he must steer Legolas toward recognition and acceptance of his situation. 

"I'm sure you've heard the like before. I would expect you left behind a regular cadre of besotted suitors." 

The blush deepened to dark scarlet and then suddenly drained away, leaving behind an almost fearful expression. 

"I have not encouraged that," Legolas said firmly, a defensive note underpinning the denial. "I never sought for that kind of attention."

"No, but you would not need to do so," Elrond answered cautiously. "Yet if you had there is no wrong in that. A young ellon approaching maturity is bound to be both curious and exhilarated by his newly discovered sexual allure. It is an entirely natural reaction which should be monitored, perhaps, to prevent needless injury to the heart, but it is equally unhealthy to suppress such urges."

"Perhaps these things are viewed differently in Imladris." Legolas flashed the healer a troubled frown and rose, returning the diary to his pack. Wanting distance, he moved to the opened exit into a slate-flagged courtyard and stood straddling the threshold, courtesy preventing him from fleeing the scene.

Elrond was troubled by his statement and his stance, poised ready to bolt. The remark was certainly not true, to Elrond's knowledge, and while he had not visited the forest realm of Greenwood since before the Last Alliance, he could not imagine so significant a shift from fundamental truths regarding growth and development. 

Legolas' perception of impropriety concerning these most primitive and private impulses could only have come from Rammas. By the age of thirty-five, the elder brother would most likely have been educated in the physical processes of reproduction and was probably experiencing the onset of puberty. Guilty over his inability to halt or control the new sensations coursing through him, incapable of resisting the comfort of Legolas' giving heart and yielding body, he had transferred his fear and shame to his brother instead.

Even worse, at some point Rammas must have come to believe he had a right to Legolas in this way. How else to explain the younger brother's almost frightened reaction to Elrond's mild flirtation? Rammas had become jealous and possessive once Legolas began to mature and attract the notice of others. To prevent competition, he had instilled this erroneous notion of licentious wickedness in his brother's mind. Legolas should have been celebrating these early conquests instead of being accused of inviting such attentions and by so doing betraying his love for Rammas.

"Legolas, I do not believe morality is judged any differently here. Perhaps your instruction in this area is inaccurate. Did your brother tell you it is wrong to acknowledge this innocent form of attraction?" 

"How can you call it innocent if the goal is to bed the object of that attraction?" countered Legolas, confused but adamant.

"That is not necessarily the goal of such encounters," Elrond corrected. "Now I know that statement came nearly verbatim from one of Rammas' ranting lectures," he announced and immediately held up a hand to halt whatever repudiation Legolas meant to supply. "However skilled and qualified he may be in other areas, Rammas has neither the experience nor the emotional stability to teach you anything about life and the complex instincts driving courtship rituals. He suffered the same loss as you, the same benevolent neglect as you. Indeed, his described the environment in which you were both submerged as isolation. How could he comprehend such things without parents, or someone acting as their proxy, to instruct him?"

"He was only trying to protect me," insisted Legolas. "If anyone learned what I was doing, I would have been sent away."

"What you were doing?" Elrond was horrified by the import of these words. "I rather doubt Rammas failed to participate or that you were capable of forcing him."

"No! I would never…I didn't understand that it was wrong at first. I didn't even understand what was happening to him." Legolas remained fixed in the doorway, rigid and pale, hugging himself, sight locked on the ancient healer's kindly face.

"Aye, you were but an an elfling," Elrond nodded and rose to go and stand beside him. "It was almost the same for me and my brother, save that we are twins and experienced the moment of release simultaneously. We were somewhat older, too, closer to Rammas' age then." He paused, seeing the shock in Legolas' eyes, and nodded rueful confirmation. "We were masturbating each other. For you, Rammas' ejaculation must have been frightening."

"Yes," Legolas inhaled and blew out a noisy breath and suddenly found he was shaking. Elrond's hand gripped his arm and tugged him back to the window seat, there he dropped heavily, cradling his head in his hands.

Elrond sat beside him and rubbed the distraught ellon's bent back soothingly. Glad for the breakthrough, he was nonetheless appalled at Rammas' decision to make Legolas bear the blame for what occurred. He waited, wanting Legolas to continue of his own volition. More than a few heartbeats passed before the prince found means to speak again.

"I was afraid to sleep alone, the stronghold is so dark and I imagined I was responsible for Nana's death, so he let me sleep with him."

"Hold, Legolas, where did that idea come from?" Elrond interrupted, alarmed to find even more complications to his patient's plight.

"She was angry about something; I thought it was my fault," he shrugged listlessly.

"Ah, a common belief among children," Elrond nodded and smiled, glad it was only this. "Often, a parent's upset or distress seems to be anger. My brother and I thought the same when our Nana left us. I was sure, had I been a better, more obedient elfling she would have taken us with her. Do you remember what she was upset about?"

"No, just that she and Ada were arguing right before she left. He spoke my name." He fell quiet and a soft sniff betrayed the enormity of his emotion.

"What else can you recall?"

"It was night; no one left the bounds of the realm after nightfall. I was afraid and went running to Ada, but he yelled and sent me away. Galion grabbed me up and carried me to the nursery, told me to stay put. I did and eventually fell asleep. When I woke, the palace was in uproar. She was dead and all her escort with her. The bodies…" Legolas' voice choked off suddenly as he struggled for control. "There was no means to determine individual identities."

"Nae, young one, I am sorry for your loss. A horrific tale and one no child could learn without falling to terror and despair," Elrond crooned softly, settling an arm around the bowed shoulders.

"Aye," Legolas displayed a fleeting view of watery blue eyes, face drawn and brow damp with perspiration as he relived the fearful event.

"It is no wonder you had no wish to be alone at night. I would expect you sought your father's company first."

"Yes, but we were not allowed to go to him, neither Rammas nor I. The healers made Galion lock us in the nursery at one point because Rammas was angry, yelling at them, demanding to see Ada. Time passed; I've no idea how much. They left us together during daylight but at night sent us to our separate rooms. I fought them, screaming, even biting, and they would have to lock me in. Every night Rammas waited until they left and let me out. If not for him, I would have died."

He stopped again and Elrond tightened his hold, slowly swaying a bit to add to the sense of security he hoped to impart to Legolas, supplementing his heart-felt empathy with small spurts of Vilya's potent magic. He found himself regretting the decision to get him talking. This was a harrowing tale and he could both feel and hear Legolas' pulse racing, his muscles trembling under the stress the narration imposed. The prince would likely collapse once it was done and Elrond let his eyes traverse the room, looking for anything he might use as a weapon against such relentless agony, promising all the Valar not to leave him alone for even a minute. 

A shudder racked Legolas body and he groaned but then rallied. Without prompting he continued the story.

"Rammas and I made a pact. He promised not to leave me if I promised to stop all the raving. He said I was upsetting Ada and he would fade if I didn't stop. I don't think I made another sound for over a full coronar. Maybe more."

"Ai! Legolas!" Elrond intoned, wishing he had known of the tragedy. He would have gone and collected the elflings at once. Not for the first time, the mighty Lord considered how worthless was the alleged power of the Ring of Air. Not even the most miniscule portion of Legolas' torment could it erase, nor could he use it to reverse the flow of Iluvatar's Song and undo all that had come to pass.

Legolas scarcely acknowledged the exclamation and continued.

"Every night thereafter, my aunt put me to bed and Rammas came to fetch me as soon as she left. I've no idea of what amount of time, whether days or months or years, passed, all without incident. It is all a long, grim, grey blur. I was often alone throughout the day for Rammas, being older, had schooling and duties. I spent hours amid the trees and discovered I could communicate with them. Therein I found solace, though a tree has not the same kind of ties to family as an elf. 

"What passed for normalcy arrived. One lonely, empty hour followed another, day stumbling upon day, Ada locked away in his rooms, his children forgotten, and I lived for the night when Rammas would hold me until I fell asleep. Nothing untoward happened in all these many days. All that changed forever, so quickly I hardly realised it.

"One night I woke suddenly to find Rammas moving against me, his rigid penis rubbing on my stomach. I had asked about that before, seeing him grow long and hard in the bath, and he'd said I would learn when I was older. So I was annoyed for being wakened more than anything and called to him, but he was deep in reverie." Legolas paused to gather strength for the rest. "I took hold of him; I don't even know why, maybe to make it stop or out of curiosity. Almost the next instant he shouted and came, eyes huge as he looked from my hand clasped around him to my face. 

"I thought I had hurt him. I was crying," he gave a deprecating snort, "seems that I am forever crying. He shushed me and said everything was well, that he was fine and insisted it felt good. He cleaned himself and my fingers, saying I mustn't tell anyone or I would be punished and forbidden to be in his room anymore. The next night, he was aroused before he came for me and taught me what to do."

"Ai Elbereth. You were both confused and fearful," Elrond sighed, "but you must know now that you were no more in the wrong than he. What transpired was not planned but neither could it be prevented."

"Nay, if I had not been afraid to sleep in my own chamber it would never have happened," Legolas straightened up and dared the Lore-master's eyes. He found Elrond concerned but not accusing, compassion shining in his grey gaze rather than disgust.

"Legolas, your need for comfort does not make you culpable. In the same way, your brother's response does not indict him. It was no one's fault, young one, least of all yours." Elrond again took stock of his patient's status and weighed how far to push Legolas. Deciding the prince's mind and heart were both open, eager to be absolved of his guilt, he pressed on. 

"What does disturb me is Rammas' decision, once you reached the age of both noticing others and being noticed in turn, to make certain you would not be accessible to anyone but him. At this point he was old enough to know what the right course of action was, but found he could not give you your freedom."

"Nay, he said other elves only wanted to exploit my position and status. He said…he told me we could become bound heart and soul now that I was old enough …we…I gave myself willingly," Legolas shut his eyes and turned away. "I loved him so and he promised we would always be together. That was more than fifty summers ago."

"Nae, Legolas, what a situation!" Elrond wrapped consoling arms around the bereft figure and hugged him tight. "Rammas convinced you the relationship was like that exalted state of a holy bond and while there is certainly love between you, it is not the kind that joins two elves in eternal soul-union."

"I don't understand," Legolas mourned softly, his bewilderment and uncertainty evident. "What I feel for him, that is not really love?"

"It is love and I do not disparage the heart that offered it. The test of the abiding faith of soul-bound mates is the degree to which love is mirrored between the couple. Is this not the source of your despair? Have you not been given evidence that your love and Rammas' are not the same at all?"

Legolas pulled free of the comforting hold and sat back, gaping through stricken and tormented eyes. "You said we would be reunited," he challenged, standing suddenly and pointing down at the legendary lord.

"You shall be," Elrond nodded, "when you are ready to accept him as your brother and when he is prepared to admit his crimes and offer restitution."

"You are wrong about him," Legolas snapped, once more side-stepping the conditional nature of this reunion, backing away and returning to the open arch. He gazed upon the vine covered walls feeling trapped and punished. "I was angry; I provoked him. He would never hurt me." He wheeled about and again faced his benevolent adversary. "Everything he has done has been to protect me, to save me from fading."

"Perhaps his intention was to shield you from hurt, initially," Elrond nodded, deciding to allow Legolas room for doubt. For now. "Yet I can name for you, and give you the scrolls themselves, folk of Doriath and later of Greenwood, both Noldorin and Sindarin scholars, your own people, wise and learned in the ways of our kind, who plainly and clearly explain the various stages of development common to all Elf-kind, be they Vanyarin, Telerin, Sindarin, Noldorin, Avarin, what have you. In addition, therein are inscribed accounts similar to yours and others perhaps even more disturbing. Indeed, I believe it would be most beneficial for you to study these works."

Legolas turned pink again and would not meet the ancient lore-master's eyes. "Am I to return to the school room with you as tutor?"

"Yes, for your education has gone wanting, at least in this regard."

Thus began the unravelling of the warped and twisted view with which Rammas had infected his brother. Legolas asked a number of questions about basic sexuality and reproduction which revealed just how controlled his information had been. He had been conditioned not to question Rammas and not to seek answers elsewhere. This alarmed Elrond, for the kind of coersion it called to mind was a heinous abuse; psychological manipulation in conjuction with the physical intimacy imposed upon a defenseless innocent. 

He made certain to answer the prince's queries thoroughly and encourage discussion. Hesitant at first, Legolas was gradually becoming more comfortable revealing his thoughts and memories. As days fled by, he grew more sombre and withdrawn, his sorrow increasing even as anger began to challenge it for dominance within his heart.

Another week drew to an end, the daily routine firmly established. Healer and patient broke fast together ensconced in their customary places on the window seat. Upon finishing the meal, Elrond began the rigourous effort to root out and refute every misconception and outright lie planted in Legolas' mind. So deeply entrenched were these errors that the lore-master sometimes wondered if he had made any headway at all. This morning, bright and sunny as it always was in Imladris, found the sheltered realm's Lord morose and taciturn. For Elrond, it was becoming ever harder to ascribe benign motives to Rammas' behaviour.

That raised a new dilemma. With Thranduil's arrival imminent, Elrond had a decision to make. Could he justify revealing Rammas' deeds, a clear violation of the promise he'd made to Legolas? He looked to the woodland prince for the third time in a handful of minutes, seated in his favourite spot in the garden courtyard, connected in his unique way to the elementsof nature, probably asking the trees for news of his Adar's presence in the valley. 

Indeed, the latest mesage indicated Thranduil would arrive within at most a day's passing. Yet the closer the King's approach, the quieter and more reserved Legolas grew. Beneath this shield of silence a tremendous rage was building; its growth exceeding his skill in hiding it so that the subdued light of his golden aura sometimes blazed in cold fury. 

He was not yet ready to unleash it, at least not upon Rammas, the source of this anger, but he might very well test it out on his sire. Without proper explanation and warning, Thranduil might react in kind and instead of drawing closer, father and son might become even more estranged. While Elrond was still mulling over how to prevent this while preserving Legolas' trust, the prince rose, the motion fluid and graceful but his eyes clouded with hurt, bewilderment, and wrath.

"Why did Rammas bind me to him if he did not feel the same?" he asked simply, beseeching some answer he could live with that would not wound him more. 

"He was not in his right mind, Legolas, else he would not have done so," Elrond said. "You told me yourself: he meant to protect you and convinced himself the best way to do that was to keep you close to him."

Legolas smiled bitterly and shook his head. "You say this because you hope to protect me, too, and because you want to believe he is noble at heart. You do not know the things he said and did. If you knew, you would never defend him."

"Perhaps, but I would try to find means to forgive him. These are the issues we will address together, even as I promised."

"Can you return to me my childhood?"

"He was also a child."

Legolas looked away into the trees, arms crossed against his aching heart, and offered no response. Elrond stayed still, unwilling to make his patient's efforts to retain composure more difficult. Finally Legolas sighed and let his arms drop to his sides.

"Adar is here," he announced and walked across the courtyard, leaping over the low stone wall that divided the private areas of the estate from the main courtyard and gardens.

Unwilling to attempt the same feat in his long formal robes, Elrond elected to reach the main entrance by the more conservative method of walking through the house. He arrived in the front hall to find Legolas wrapped in his father's arms, the two clinging to one another, oblivious to all around them, both silently weeping with combined joy and sadness.

TBC

Names, other uncommon elvish words and/or constructions:  
hen vaethoren: my warrior child  
RAMMAS: Wall  
TALAGAN: Harper  
MUINDORADAR: Uncle (brother-father)  
FORN'WAEW: North Wind  
SAMMAR: Neighbour  
GILION: Star Son  
  



	5. Chapter 5

# Fractured Light

# Elrond's Prescription

  
"Mae govannen, Hîr Erestor. Please, forgive my disregard for the formality such a visit generally demands. I just need to see Legolas. Please."

The King of the Woodland Realm stood alone in the shallows of the crossing, dirty and dishevelled, face haggard and emerald eyes haunted. Clearly he had not slept for untold days on end, more than accounted for by the length of the journey from Greenwood. His long golden hair was braided down in a simple, utilitarian style; an unkempt braid that likely as not hadn't been combed out and reworked since leaving his homeland. Erestor wasn't sure if that was due to a despairing heart or merely an example of desperate haste. 

He'd arrived unescorted and there was nothing at all to distinguish him as one of Arda's most powerful rulers. Instead he presented as a common messenger, his dress that of any woodland warrior, lacking any insignia or sign of his nobility save for the ancient and mighty broadsword cinched round his hips. No humble courier would ever possess such a weapon, especially among the woodland elves who preferred the traditional and more pragmatic bow and quiver. 

Yet only a fool would fail to mark his lordly presence, though the haughty arrogance Erestor recalled from the Last Alliance was no longer apparent. Even so, Thranduil held himself straight, head high, hand upon the sword's hilt, the stance regal and commanding. He was much like his father, save perhaps not quite as tall as Oropher, and justly proud of his exalted heritage. Strength and majesty draped his form more closely than the torn and muddied cloak cast about his shoulders; his brow newly crowned with a cap of wisdom earned under the relentless tutelage of adversity, misfortune, and time. Even in the merciless grip of personal tragedy, Thranduil was an elf to be admired and feared.

For all that, it was the eyes that struck Erestor hardest; vivid green irises limned in dread and darkened with the sort of fatalism usually associated only with the most ancient of elves, a stoic acceptance that yet again only dire, calamitous doom would be his lot. It was most disturbing to behold and the jaded seneschal was moved to prove him wrong for once. He offered a smile and raised his arm in welcome, motioning the monarch across the ford and into the fair valley.

"Aye, I shall escort you to him at once, Aran Vrand (Noble King)." He watched the distraught father lift a dismissive hand, face contorting in contempt at the signifier. 

"Please use my name, Hîr Erestor. I've no taste for such titles."

"As you wish, but only if you will do the same."

"Done." Thranduil was on the pebbled shingle and held forth his hand, taking Erestor's arm in the customary greeting between warriors. "Take me to him, mellon." 

He proceeded across the mossy bank, awaiting neither invitation nor brevet, striding past the honour guard standing attention, utterly oblivious to the presence of Glorfindel, their legendary captain, eyes on the tree-lined track ahead, scanning either side eagerly as though he thought his son might be there to greet him. His horse strolled along behind, muzzle dripping from immersion in the fast flowing fluid where she'd quenched her thirst, neck arched proudly, butternut coat slick and dark, head high and eyes bright. She trailed him like an adoring pup and with like energy; this was not an animal pushed to the brink of collapse. 

The King made a little clicking noise with his tongue and her ears twitched forward, a faint whickering breath answering. The brief communication was transparent: he ordered her to stay and enjoy the lush riparian landscape; she declined. He gave a minute shrug and the faintest acquiescent sniff.

Erestor could not suppress a smile. Though more than a league lay between the borders of Rivendell and the Last Homely House, Thranduil would walk rather than subject the horse to undo exertion, while she intended to follow just in case he changed his mind. He wondered how many leagues the noble scion of Oropher had already walked. Whatever the condition of other steeds he may have ridden on the journey, this mare was well loved, indeed. Instantly the seneschal decided he much liked this unassuming, care-worn King. He hastened to join him, leaving his own mount to the care of the soldiers, lengthening his stride to match Thranduil's.

"You received the latest news by falcon?"

"Aye and am grateful for your reports, Erestor. But for those few encouraging words I might well have given way to madness on this trek. Now I need only to see him, touch him, hear his voice once more. I cannot tell you…you have children?"

"Nay, I have never wed."

"Then I know no words sufficient to express the anxiety that grips a father's heart when one of his children is suffering, or the relief that flushes it out upon hearing he is improving."

"Aye, Thranduil, yet I must caution you not to expect too much," Erestor warned. "He is physically almost completely recovered, but the state of his soul is another matter. For that, you must take counsel with Elrond."

"For this have I come," Thranduil nodded in morose agreement. "While I am grateful for the diligent guard Elrond has maintained upon Legolas to forestall any new suicide attempts, I am dismayed to understand such is still necessary."

There was nothing beneficial Erestor could offer to counter that and silence fell between them. Indeed, the seneschal had been cautious in the reports sent to the King, describing only the closing of bodily wounds and the return of a more robust constitution. Nearly four weeks had passed since Rammas carried his brother across the Bruinen and Erestor was not certain any progress had been made regarding Legolas' broken heart. On that subject, Elrond was unusually reticent. Erestor could only hope this was due to discretion rather than pessimism.

Thranduil permitted Erestor the lead upon reaching the formal courtyard of the Last Homely House. His stride slowed as he evaluated the place where Legolas had found refuge, gazing upon the grand, columned portico, admiring the elegance of the stately manor, impressed by its carved friezes and decorative accents while yet a bit prejudiced against the blatantly Noldorin architecture. The massive doors, inscribed with the crests of both Eärendil and Tuor, the double insignias of the Swan's Wing and the Silmaril, stood open and the King wondered if the rumour was true. It was said they had never been closed since the founding of the realm in the middle of the Second Age. Elrond Half-elven, Gil-galad's bold standard-bearer, had become a scholar and healer after the Last Alliance and none in need were turned away.

Not particularly interested in Elrond's general policy on visitors, Thranduil was simply and sincerely grateful the Lord of Imladris had not barred Rammas and Legolas. He had made no effort to renew ties with the Noldorin folk after the debacle of the Last Alliance. There was good cause but he had never offered any explanation for slamming shut the forest gate. 

_Not that Adar ever extended more than the barest diplomatic courtesy anyway._

Elrond might easily have construed this isolation as a sign of hostility and would not have been entirely erroneous. Yet the reality was more grim than any outsider knew. There had been doubt, at least in Thranduil's mind, whether Greenwood could survive as a kingdom so great was the decimation of her population. Nearly two thirds of the woodland folk either died in battle or from grief in its aftermath. Of the remaining handful, almost a fourth left Middle-earth forever, bound for the Undying Lands, the immigrants Sindarin and sylvan alike. 

Besides this exodus and on top of his personal sorrow, Thranduil faced two challenges for succession, one from his brother and one from an elleth claiming to be a direct descendant of Lenwë. Not even after the wearing turmoil of this contention was resolved had the King resumed contact with other realms, for the Necromancer attacked Amon Lanc and Oropher's fortress became the dread tower called Dol Guldur. Thranduil built a new stronghold far to the north, buried beneath a mountain and shielded by sylvan magic. Even this did not guarantee freedom for his people. There was no Watchful Peace under Greenwood's canopy. 

Men saw fit to invade and settle in the midst of the woods, Orcs and Spiders multiplied while resources diminished. It took Oropher's young heir centuries to establish workable compromises within and without his kingdom and rebuild the once proud nation. Even before Thranduil wed, his people had become leery of outsiders. Needing to blame someone for all they had suffered, the woodland folk pointed to the weakness of Isildur and the arrogance of Gil-galad. By the time Legolas' naneth perished, over two thousand years later, the break was complete.

Erestor stood waiting in courteous patience while Thranduil's thoughts meandered through the past, obviously accustomed to the awe and appreciation his home inspired in newcomers, though there was nothing boastful or pretentious in his demeanour. The King smiled thinly, unable to produce more than this faint rendition of the friendly expression, his effort thwarted not by displeasure but heartache and fatigue. Before he could proceed up the broad marble steps, a sweep of gold flashed across his peripheral vision and in nearly the next instant a familiar voice hailed him.

"Ada!" Legolas called, jogging right through the formal flower beds, a smile on his face that plainly displayed the warring emotions at work in his soul.

"Legolas! Yavanna be praised," Thranduil responded, turning from the stairs to catch his youngest son in a strong but careful hold, latching onto his forearms as he scanned the pale, drawn face before him. He could not prevent his sight from glancing to the wrists beneath his clasp, but of course there was nothing to see. The gashes were healed and any evidence of the self-inflicted wounds judiciously hidden beneath the long sleeves of Legolas' silk shirt.

"I am well, Ada; do not fear." Legolas said, but he could not hide the tell-tale panting respiration his brief exertion caused. Then he caught his father searching for the signs of his madness and abject shame gripped him. Hastily he tried to pull free and was at once yanked into a crushing embrace.

"Nay, don't go from my side," pleaded Thranduil, nose buried in his son's golden tresses, inhaling the strong scent of the woods that clung to the gossamer strands. "These last many months I have known such fear I cannot describe it. I was wrong to let you from my sight. I must have been mad to permit you to leave Greenwood."

"I am sorry, Ada," Legolas whispered, squeezing back with all the strength he could raise, almost giddy with joy to have this fear squashed; his father was not fading. "I never meant to hurt you. I did not want to go."

"Elbereth, hen vaethoren, I know this," the King answered, though he understood fully the truth was something else. "You need not worry for me; I did not mean to burden you with my regrets." His desperate hold eased enough to peer into his son's blue eyes, shining with tears as surely as his own must be. 

They both became still as he framed the fair face carefully, searching deep into Legolas' soul, past the walls and shields that easily stopped others, and found there the soul-wound even as he had dreaded. A harsh gasp left him and he pulled his son against his heart again, gently this time, protectively, wishing his physical presence could repair the damage in the delicate seam joining hroa and feä.

"I should never have let you out of my sight."

"Please, bring him inside, Aran Thranduil," a firm, quiet voice commanded and Thranduil turned to find the Lord of Imladris at the top of the stairs poised between the opened doors. "Please, that you may have the privacy such a reunion deserves."

Thranduil met the calm grey eyes, his gaze direct and frank, the depth of his gratitude plain for all to see. Yet this was not enough and he moved forward a pace, still keeping tight hold of Legolas' arm, and dropped on his knees, bowing his chin to his chest.

"Accept the humble thanks of a grateful father, Lord Elrond, inadequate though such words are to express the magnitude of what you have done. I am in your debt until the world changes, for you have returned to me that which is priceless and most dear to my heart. If there is any service Greenwood can render, or myself personally, you need only make it known and it shall be done instantly as though Manwë himself ordered it so."

"Ai! This is not necessary!" exclaimed Elrond, embarrassed and looking it, glancing about to see if anyone was observing, turning in helpless quandary to Erestor, who could only offer an elaborate shrug as he reversed his steps to assist Thranduil. 

Of course there were many elves in the courtyard for word had gone out that Thranduil, last of the Sindarin Kings of old, the famous monarch of the secluded forest, was among them. Elrond had urged the King inside so to spare the harried father and his equally frazzled son the scrutiny of curious eyes. By now a small crowd had gathered in the courtyard and the soft murmur of appraising comment began to rise. Elrond hurried down the steps after his seneschal, halting as he caught sight of Legolas' expression, warm and smiling, as the prince bent and grasped his Ada's arm. Together he and Erestor hoisted the King of the Woodland Realm unceremoniously to his feet.

"No more of that, mellon," scolded Erestor. "We do not take kindly to such grovelling and kow-towing here in Imladris. Makes it seem we have ulterior motives for our policy of benevolent welcome to all. It is very nearly an insult, such obeisance from the leader of a foreign land, but I dare say Elrond will forgive it if you swear there will be no repeat of the objectionable behaviour." He grinned at the wide-eyed, red-faced King, who peered in dumbstruck dismay from him to Elrond to his son and back as he tried and failed to find words in answer.

"Erestor!" Elrond hissed, his rebuking scowl fierce. Before he could explain that it was his seneschal's idea of a joke, Thranduil regained his voice.

"Your pardon," he murmured, bowing low to Elrond, "I meant no offence, Hîren, and will not…"

"Ai! Ada, he is teasing you," Legolas leaned close and whispered loudly, blue eyes sparkling with mirth as they scanned the confused viridian irises returning his stare.

Thranduil looked to Erestor, who gave a deprecating dip of the head and a shrug, to Elrond, who looked ready to pummel his kinsman, and to the crowd where polite smiles and a chuckle or two confirmed his son's explanation. Yet it was again to Legolas' eyes he turned for answers and so glad was Thranduil to see happiness there he failed to experience any chagrin over the jest at his expense. His smile grew huge and he laughed, clasping Legolas on the shoulder while shaking an admonishing finger at Elrond's kinsman. 

"What cheek!" he exclaimed, still laughing. "Yet I admit it feels good on the heart to be merry after so many months of solemnity and dissension. My thanks, Erestor, my thanks!"

A few of the gathered elves laughed and scolded Erestor, too, saying it was on his head if Greenwood and Imladris fell into enmity over his rogue tongue and wayward wit.

"Praise Varda," Elrond exhaled in relief. The one thing he hoped to avoid was igniting the volcanic temper legendary among Oropher's people. "Now if all the foolishness is behind us, I pray you will come inside and permit me to welcome you properly to the Last Homely House." Indeed, the harried lore-master was unwilling to wait for his guests to obey and escorted Thranduil up the stairs and through the door. Once inside he offered a deep bow of his own. "Mae govannen, Aran Thranduil. The House of Eärendil is honoured by the presence of the House of Oropher. Please, consider Imladris your home for as long as need demands."

"Well said, Lord Elrond, and I graciously accept your generous hospitality," Thranduil half-bowed, caught himself, met Legolas' eye, and the two broke into snickering glee as he righted himself. "Elo! While I wish the circumstances had not been so grim, I am genuinely pleased that Legolas is here. I can think of no place in all Middle-earth where he would find such good will."

"You are indeed gracious, Thranduil," Erestor said. "It is a difficult job, keeping the valley in high spirits, but I give it my all."

"Erestor, I am as willing to endure your jesting as anyone, yet I think it goes too far to claim such familiarity with our guest," Elrond was ready to have Glorfindel confine his cousin to his rooms.

"Nay, that was by my request," Thranduil interposed. "I pray you will call me by name, also, Hîren."

"Oh," Elrond nodded gravely, flustered and rather thrown off. The King was nothing at all as the most recent intelligence described him. Said to be mercurial and ambivalent, remote and taciturn for days only to suddenly explode over some minor annoyance, this ellon expressed almost the complete opposite of such a character. Elrond suddenly decided he was being ridiculous to find this off-putting and smiled with genuine felicity. "Certainly, as you wish, Thranduil. Indeed, formality is a hindrance in present circumstances. Please, no titles for me, either."

"So be it, Elrond," Thranduil smiled, still clutching at his son's arm as, indeed, he had been through all the permutations of introductions and greetings. "My mare needs care; is there someone who can see to her? And I left my pack behind as well."

"Is it Emmelin?" asked Legolas, stretching the connection as far as possible in hopes of poking his head back outside to see. His father did not loosen his hold and he glanced back, annoyed. "Ada, let go."

"Nay, nay, I don't think so, not just yet. Come here, hen vell." Thranduil tugged insistently and displayed his first hint of a frown as Legolas stubbornly pulled back.

"Valar, I just want to see her," complained Legolas, struggling to worm free of the confining grip. "Let go."

"Legolas, you can see her later." Thranduil added his other hand and held on. "I have only just arrived after longs days fearing never to see you alive again. My eyes have not beheld you enough to believe the proof in front of them, hênen."

"I am not a child," snapped Legolas but obeyed, returning to stand beside his father, head down, cheeks adorned with garish blotches of crimson, blue eyes flashing though they would meet none of his elder's.

The silence succeeding this display was fraught with tension, electrified with the energy of Legolas' thwarted will and seething anger. 

"Forgive me," Thranduil removed one hand and used it to gently soothe his son's rigid shoulders. "It is not my intent to treat you like an elfling; I just need to feel your presence, ion. Please, do not go from me yet. Indulge your Ada's whim."

His honest words reached straight into Legolas' heart and smothered the rising fury instantly. The young prince turned a warm smile upon his father and leaned against him, letting his head rest on the King's shoulder.

"Aye, it is no burden you ask of me," he admitted quietly, glancing sheepishly at the two Noldorin Lords to learn what they might make of his oafish behaviour. Both had eyes bearing the bright sheen of emotion and smiles both tender and compassionate. Legolas passed his arm about his father's waist and stood straight again.

"It might be best if we allow you two sometime apart," Elrond said. "Thranduil, I have readied a suite for you across from Legolas' rooms. He can show you the way and acquaint you with the rest of the house. After such a taxing journey, you may wish to bathe and rest for a time."

"Aye, Ada, I will guide you to the bathing pools," Legolas agreed, already moving down the hallway, arm still linked through Thranduil's.

"What haste!" intoned the King in amusement. "Is my odour offensive?"

"Aye," Legolas arched a brow and let his gaze sweep over the ragged figure. Never had he seen his father this unkempt, not even after a sortie amid the spider colonies. "You haven't washed since you left Greenwood and it is evident to almost all the senses."

"Imp!" laughed Thranduil, shaking his head. "I had other concerns occupying my thoughts."

"As it should be," agreed Erestor, chuckling. "I will have the noon meal brought to your quarters, Thranduil, and we will join you both then."

"I beg you will not leave your Adar's side, Legolas," inserted Elrond quickly, for father and son were almost to the stairwell. The command stopped them both and they turned shocked expressions upon his. Elrond sighed and offered an rueful smile. While he regretted injecting this sombre note into the chipper mood, he was not prepared to have Legolas slip away and make a fourth try for Námo's realm. "Your word, young one,"he insisted.

"Given," Legolas bit off the promise and darted up the steps, mortified, face ashen and eyes dark with afflicted gloom.

"He understands," Erestor offered, seeing his kinsman's bereft expression, "and will not fault you for it, no matter how sharp the sting of that knowledge."

"Aye, he has not complained once about the unending supervision of his every action," Elrond nodded. "I would like to say I trust him, but at this point I cannot risk that courtesy."

"So it is as I suspected; you have not yet touched upon the source of his despair."

"Touched upon it and more," Elrond corrected, "but it is an affliction with very deep roots and as resistant as any I have ever encountered. I dare not leave so much as a fibre of its essence lest it rejuvenate and sink its murderous tendrils even deeper."

"Ai! You frighten me, Elrond," Erestor indeed was pale. "I thought his spirits much improved when last I sat with him."

"Oh, he is well versed in presenting a believable facade of normal, quiet reserve. Remember, he has been practising the role for almost all his lifetime," Elrond nodded. "Underneath, his spirit is dimming. Only when roused to anger does his aura shine forth."

"Nay, I see it plainly enough," argued Erestor.

"Do you?" Elrond peered at his kinsman closely and saw that Erestor was entirely serious. His brows rose in speculative interest. "That is promising, for he does not make the effort for me or for Forn'waew. He is responding to you, mellon vrun, and we must make the most of it henceforth."

"How do you mean?"

"The timing is right," Elrond murmured thoughtfully, wandering down the hall toward his study, knowing Erestor would follow. "Thranduil and I have much to discuss and cannot do so in Legolas' presence. His health is improving daily and he grows impatient within the confines of his rooms and the garden beyond. I need you to become his guide to the valley, Erestor, his very shadow. His friend and more. He finds your presence pleasing; I want you to enhance that sensation." To Elrond's utter surprise, Erestor balked at the opportunity to court the young prince. In fact, his kinsman looked angry.

"Nay, that would not be right."

"Why not?" demanded Elrond. "You and I both know what the next step in this cure requires. I would have this suitor be you. He is already drawn to you even if he hasn't realised it and you…of course!" Elrond broke off abruptly.

"What? What is it?"

"Your words, Erestor, your words reached him," Elrond was smiling and nodding as he settled a hand on his seneschal's shoulder. "The day he languished in fevered dreams, he heard your quiet avowal on behalf of his injured heart."

"I see," Erestor sighed, neither pleased nor hopeful, and stepped from beneath his cousin's grip.

"Why do you resist?" asked Elrond, his tone warm and soft for he thought perhaps he knew. "If it is because of our time together then be assured my heart will not resent your actions."

Erestor stared at Elrond in dour disappointment. He could plainly detect the level of interest Elrond felt for Thranduil's son and had not believed the wise lore-master could so easily hide it from himself. Self deception and denial, he supposed, were immune to experience and common sense. He scowled and shook his head, heading for the exit.

"Elrond, you are a blind fool," he muttered over his shoulder and left his kinsman to consider that in private.

TBC

The Names:  
RAMMAS: Wall  
TALAGAN: Harper  
MUINDORADAR: Uncle (brother-father)  
FORN'WAEW: North Wind  
SAMMAR: Neighbour  
GILION: Star Son

NOTE: I know there seems to be a huge inconsistency in time revealed here. Legolas and Rammas are both currently _UNDER_  300 years old, but their father's thoughts indicate that his marriage took place early in the Third Age. There is a legitimate reason for this and time will reveal it, I promise. The AU for this story is a little different from others I have formulated for Greenwood and for Thranduil. Someone once asked me to write a Thranduil story, and while I haven't done it yet, this tale belongs to that unwritten, though fully conceived, one. I promise to load up a complete timeline and synopsis of Greenwood's history once the story is complete. Can't do it now, too many spoilers, but the general time for FL is TA 2700, which the trouble with Dunnland gave away. Thanks for reading and bearing with my little foibles :D

##### Disclaimer: Main characters and settings originally created by JRR Tolkien. Just for fun, no money earned. OC's and story are erobey's.


	6. Chapter 6

# Fractured Light

### Thranduil's Bargain

It was quiet in the sumptuous luxury of Lord Elrond's private bathing chamber, the only sounds the subdued swirl and swash of the water in the tub as Thranduil tried to enjoy the first relaxation he had known in many days. It was proving more difficult than one might imagine for this was not an easy silence, not a restful quiet. The King knew he should be relieved and he was. His son was alive and, if not well, at least he was no worse. There was hope; he would accept no other evaluation, no matter how small and fragile that conviction was at the moment. 

The silence was so complete he could hear the tiny bubbles popping between the strands of his long hair. All the amusing banter had ceased with Elrond's request and Legolas had become pensive and withdrawn, hiding his thoughts and feelings, locked in his own world again as was his wont. Outwardly he was calm and composed and nothing seemed amiss. He was just quiet. Inside, who could guess what turmoil raged? Thranduil forced the thought away. He would not guess; he would have answers. 

_And a solution. There is a way; there must be._

To distract himself, he concentrated on the opulent environment. The smooth, marble basin was wide and deep, the water hot, pumped from a natural spring infused with minerals his weary body absorbed as readily as a summer-scorched sapling drank the first rains of autumn. He reclined and focused on these aspects of the experience, designed to be soothing, relaxing, and calming. He inhaled the rich damp tendrils of steamy mist arising around him, exhaling the agitation and strain of the long journey, forcing from his thoughts the grim images that had plagued his every moment, visions of Legolas nearly drained of blood, poisoned by his failing body. He shuddered and gave a small gasp.

"Ada?" Legolas spoke softly, worry in his words.

"Nay, do not be concerned; I am just…I am weary, ion."

Thranduil tipped his head back to give his son a bright smile and met an expression of sadness and chagrin. He reached back and squeezed the bare forearm, just preventing himself from running his hand down to where the scar would be. "I am well," he reiterated and Legolas resumed his task.

"What a fine home Lord Elrond keeps," Thranduil said, for the quiet was an unbearable burden. "I appreciate the solitude this chamber provides yet find the soft undercurrent of music and song nearby a comfort."

"Aye, it's wondrous place," Legolas agreed but he heaved a rather heavy sigh.

"Most of all," Thranduil continued, "I am grateful for the presence of my son perched on a bench behind me, soothingly massaging sweet smelling soap down to my scalp."

"I am glad, too, Ada," Legolas answered and his smile was in his voice, but nothing more did he offer.

That was Legolas' typical form of response; nothing that had ever roused concern before.

_His usual manner, though how can it be normal?_

When not on patrol, when at home in the stronghold, Legolas might be any servant of the House, so little did he speak, so seldom was he seen. Thranduil wondered how much of Legolas' life had transpired unnoticed and invisible, the insular attitude encouraged because his undemanding demeanour meant no one was burdened with tending to him when he was young. That he could not remember any of his younger son's childhood sent a sharp pang of guilt and sorrow to his heart.

_Yet it isn't just me who can't recall his early years._

Legolas' reserve was accepted as just part of his personality. Everyone agreed, without ever discussing it that Thranduil could recall, that is was due to the grief to which he'd been subjected at so young an age. It became so commonplace for Legolas to refrain from interacting with others that no one even questioned it. He was Rammas' little shadow and when he couldn't be with his brother, he waited quietly somewhere out of the way until Rammas was free.

_Yet there must be more to it than that. A frightened child cries, an angry child cries, but Legolas was silent. What fears or threats squelched these natural impulses?_

The conditioning had been so successful that even now, an adult and a respected warrior, Legolas preferred to end his life rather than reveal what ailed him. Thranduil did not know how to change this as every tactic he'd tried before had failed. His son had learned this lesson early and efforts to convince him that his input was welcomed and much desired yielded a wary, almost distrustful retreat, often both physical and mental. It was as if Legolas suspected a trap of some kind and was both frightened of failing to evade it and hurt that it had been placed in his path, so he disappeared. What he feared the ploy would make him do or say was incomprehensible.

Thranduil did believe the root of this present ordeal had sprouted in those early years; years when his son had so needed attention and instead had been silenced. That, he decided, was the best place to start digging for answers.

"When your mother died and I fell to grieving, you must have been terrified yet I do not recall hearing your cries in the stronghold," he said abruptly and Legolas' fingers froze on his scalp before withdrawing completely. There was a long silence and the King thought his son had even stopped breathing.

"You think I did not cry?" Legolas finally managed with effort, his words bearing the pain the notion caused him.

"Nay!" Thranduil turned, expression horrified, and water lapped over the rim of the pool. "I only meant that you are very quiet and I think you were made to be this way contrary to natural instincts. I was wondering what my brother said, what Gwathel Gelir told you."

"Oh, yes," Legolas sighed, relieved. "Actually, I screamed and cried so much they could not bear it anymore and locked me in the nursery."

"What?" Thranduil had not been told this. "I will have Galion skinned and…"

"You will not do anything to Galion," smirked Legolas, leaning forward and catching his father's eye with gentle censure. "He saved your life and you know you love him dearly. Have you not told me so? In any case, what else were they to do? Rammas finally got through to me and made me stop."

"I see." Thranduil resumed his relaxed posture as Legolas resumed the shampoo. "Does it bother you?"

"That I was locked in the nursery? Nay, I understand why now that I am grown."

"I didn't mean that and you know it," Thranduil admonished softly. "I will never replace her but I could not survive alone."

"I know this," Legolas answered and bent over his father's lathered pate to press a kiss to the wet forehead. "I love Galion, too, for he saved you for me. I just wish you hadn't fought him for so long," he added wistfully. "Things might have been different."

"You are thinking I would not have been absent from your life and you are right." Thranduil said soberly. "I wasn't able to let her go. It seemed a betrayal and I couldn't manage it. Deeply do I regret it; you were grown before I regained sufficient presence of mind to even recognise you."

"I did not mean to suggest you did wrong, Ada. You were fading; it was not something you could control," Legolas assured, but at that moment he remembered what Elrond had told him about indulging grief.

Could it really be true? If so, then his father might have been pulled from mourning sooner. He suddenly felt sick and heavy inside and once again withdrew from the gentle massage, listlessly wiping the fragrant suds on his leggings, watching the dark streaks that spread down his thighs. The dark red lines marking his newly healed skin stood out starkly, an ugly, fitting representation of the way he felt. He rubbed at the left wrist with the right hand.

"I have lost everything and cannot get it back," he said, bereft and melancholy, "and I cannot bear it that maybe I did not have to lose some of it, or at least…Ai, Ada, I'm sorry…I just can't…"

"Legolas, ion, be at peace," Thranduil said, turning again and grasping his son's soapy hands before he could rise and get away. The healed slashes at last fell under his sight and his gut clenched in revulsion. To think his son had been moved to such horrible violence upon himself was enough to make him ill. To behold the evidence was more devastating than he'd imagined. With effort Thranduil fought off the reaction.

"You have not lost everything; I am here. Look at me, Legolas," he insisted softly for Legolas had turned his face away. He gave a small tug on the hands between his, glad for the small trust his son granted in not pulling free, in letting him see. Slowly, with hopeful hesitance the distraught eyes lifted to meet his gaze. "Whatever you must face, you are not alone. We will see this through together. I was not there before, when all of this happened, when your young heart somehow came to such deadly harm, but I am now."

"I know you want to understand this," Legolas said quietly, "and I know you do not mean to hurt me, Ada. No more do I wish to give you sorrow, but I cannot speak of it."

"Ai, ion, it is only to help heal you that I would delve your secret heart, but I would not pressure you for answers. Not now, not until you are ready to speak," replied Thranduil. He offered a smile and his soul quailed to see the hopeless, lacklustre one Legolas produced in response.

"And if I never want to discuss it, what then?"

"Then we will not," the King answered, confused. "What do you imagine would happen?" His son shrugged, eyes averted and face lowered beneath a curtain of golden hair. "Legolas, if you can be made whole then I will be satisfied. I do not want to lose you. I could not abide that."

"Aye, well do I know it and if I didn't Rammas has gone to great lengths to remind me," Legolas ground out angrily, getting up suddenly and stalking across the room to take up a pitcher so to rinse the suds from his father's long tresses.

"Rammas?" the King watched this sudden bloom of rage and received confirmation for something he had been considering on the long journey. Whatever this was about, it all started when his eldest began courting. "You and Rammas were close once; what has happened between you?" he demanded spontaneously and watched in amazement as his son flinched and dropped the earthenware ewer. 

The vessel broke apart, scattering sharp, curved, shards all across the tiled floor. For a second, father and son stared at the fragments as though mesmerised by this minor accident. Then with a soft and fearful cry Thranduil bounded from the tub, stooping, naked and dripping, to hastily gather up the fragments and wrap them in a towel.

"Adar," Legolas called out, stunned to see this and ashamed the reason was his doing. He took a step and knelt there beside him on the puddled floor. "I won't, Ada, please. I won't."

"Legolas, I cannot dare chance it," Thranduil said, rising and depositing the broken pottery on a shelf near the pool. 

He climbed back in the water and ducked under to rinse out his hair, hurrying though he knew Legolas would never break his given word and leave the chamber. When he surfaced and pushed the heavy mane behind him, he found his son slouched dejectedly on a bench, arms and legs all folded together around his body, one great ball of misery. Legolas lifted a woebegone countenance, his expression one of apprehensive entreaty. 

Again the King sighed, stepping from the warm water. "Be at peace, ion. Bring me a robe and come comb out my hair." 

This initiated an immediate unfurling of the desolate form as Legolas stood, smiling a shy, adoring smile, pausing long enough to encircle his father in a swift embrace ere retrieving the requested items. The two sat on the comfortable bench and simultaneously relaxed as the careful grooming began. The quiet relinquished some of its edgy strain; the connection between them mellowed, no longer interrogator and captive but father and son once more.

Thranduil had few memories of the dark years following his beloved's death, but he did have vague recollections of someone combing his hair, singing, the voice ethereal and soothing. Years later, Galion had informed him this was Legolas, who had once or twice sneaked inside the forbidden apartment and found his Adar sprawled across a sofa or limp in the bed, senseless from drinking himself into oblivion, reeking of sweat and wine and urine, hair a matted, greasy tangle. Galion never had the heart to make him leave, seeing the comfort it gave him to do this small thing for his father, seeing the comfort the simple action gave to Thranduil.

Since learning of it, Thranduil always asked his youngest son to share this chore whenever he returned from patrol. Indeed, it had become a mutually anticipated experience and in this way Thranduil had first managed to come to know what little he learned of Legolas, their quiet talks unhurried and unaffected. He let a few moments seep away until it felt his son had regained sufficient poise and then decided to take the conversation in another, hopefully harmless, direction.

"What of you? A soak in these rejuvenating waters would be beneficial, surely," said the King, smiling as his son drew the comb carefully through his hair. Legolas was humming just barely loud enough to be heard and Thranduil wondered if he was even aware of it.

"Aye, that would be grand, but I am not permitted to get the chest wound wet until Elrond is satisfied it is truly healed this time," he answered with no small amount of wistful longing. "I have been bathing out of a bucket all these many weeks."

Thranduil worked hard to suppress a snort of laughter over the obvious disgust in this last statement. The strange hiccup this generated and the sinister glare Legolas leaned forward to focus upon him robbed him of all control. Thranduil snickered and shook his head.

"Oh, laugh if you like, but I am not accustomed to being so grimy I offend my own senses," groused Legolas, dismayed when this only made his Ada laugh harder.

"Legolas, forgive me, I do not mean to disparage your fetish for cleanliness."

"It is not a fetish!"

"Your habit, then, or shall I say, your excessive concern over natural bodily odours and…"

"It is not excessive, Ada, I just don't like it. Reminds me of when you were so ill."

That took all the humour out of the situation and Thranduil turned, reaching anew for his son's hands. "Ai! That is what lies behind it?"

"Aye. I'm sorry, Ada, but the smell was frightening and I will always associate lack of cleanliness with approaching death."

"Then I will make every effort to prevent you from reliving such a terrifying experience. Forgive me for jesting; I had no idea."

"Ai, it doesn't matter now anyway," sighed Legolas, regretting he'd said anything. "You are not fading and I am foolish to let such trifling things as how often I bathe bother me." He turned his father's head back and resumed the grooming, hoping to return everything to ease and comfort.

"You are not foolish and of course it matters," Thranduil coaxed gently. "The sorrow we have weathered has marked you deeply and I feel certain the present grief is also centred in those days."

Legolas felt his heart skip anew, not expecting his father to strike so near the truth and remain adamant in bringing it up. Once more he retracted the comb from the tresses. "Even if that is so, nothing can be changed. I see no purpose in discussing it; I told you this."

"So be it," Thranduil replied gravely and let the matter drop. He had already probed the soul-wound and discovered what he'd expected. For the rest, he would express his thoughts to Elrond before pressing his son further.

Ill he had surely been, to the point of fading, but Thranduil was neither blind nor simple. Talagan never made the connection between the happy announcement of Rammas' courtship and the immediate decline of his King's younger child, but Thranduil had. It was this event that triggered Legolas' grief and the fearful father had gone at once to Rammas and asked what was between them, suspecting Legolas had harboured unspoken feeling for Mallos in his youthful heart. Rammas refuted the possibility out of hand, angry and defensive, and Thranduil next sought the answer from Legolas. There he was met by the usual wounded withdrawal into sullen silence, and between the brothers arose a tension and uneasiness that had never existed before.

Thranduil sighed deeply. Reviewing all this availed him nothing unless he could find a means to break through Legolas' formidable reserve. He hoped Lord Elrond concurred with what he wished to try and sent a silent prayer to Yavanna to make it so.

Anor's zenith heralded the arrival of Elrond and Erestor at Thranduil's door, the seneschal and his lord each bearing a laden tray. While the meal was delicious and the conversation amiable, all four were keenly aware of the one topic which remained untouched. By its very absence from the dialogue, Legolas' despair and craving for self-destruction achieved monumental proportions in each one's thoughts. At last it could be avoided no longer and Thranduil moved to broach the subject, deciding the best way to do so was to dismiss his son.

"Legolas, I would like to speak alone with Elrond for a time. Mayhap you could go with Erestor and visit Emmelin now."

"Adar, I am not a child to be sent from the room so the grown-ups may talk freely," Legolas stood from the table, rigid with anger, fists tight at his sides. "You wish to discuss me, fine, but I have the right to be here to contribute what you don't know and to refute anything inaccurate."

"You told me yourself you have no wish to analyse what has happened to you," reminded Thranduil, "but I am your father and have need for advise on how to proceed. Lord Elrond is the one to give it."

"I will stay and hear this advise, also," countered Legolas grimly, sitting and crossing his arms over his chest, daring another rebuttal.

Elrond intervened, seeing the King's face slowly going red. "It is good that you want to stay," he addressed Legolas. "We have made some progress and I am sure you want your father to be reassured of that, yes?"

"Yes," Legolas hesitantly relented, recalling the unpleasant scene in the bathing chamber. "I am no longer seeking death; this I would have him know. Yet the rest…You gave your promise that what I have revealed would remain between us."

"So it shall," nodded Elrond, smiling and settling a hand upon Legolas' shoulder. "I will not betray your confidence, young one, now or ever." His words rang with genuine fervour and he knew they would recall to mind the vow he'd made to Legolas that first night. He watched as bewildered recognition washed through the young prince's eyes, revealing this was the case and that the memory was partially shrouded as would be a dream. Elrond squeezed the muscle beneath his grip and let go, giving a quick nod. He turned to Thranduil. "Now, ask of me what you will. As long as answering does not infringe upon the promise I have given your son, I will reply fully."

"Very well, that is certainly fair and I respect your commitment to Legolas," the worried father paused and in the moment of silence Erestor arose.

"Perhaps it would be best if I left," he suggested. "Let me take away all this clutter so that you will not be interrupted by a servant."

"Nay!" announced all three of the other elves in harmony and Erestor eyed them askance, slowly reclaiming his seat.

"As you wish," he murmured and let his glance linger on Legolas, worried about the somewhat frantic glint in the warrior's eyes. He leaned closer and spontaneously settled a hand on the prince's knee. "You are certain this meets with your approval?" he asked quietly, searching the blue irises, hoping to learn what really lay beyond them, for he was sure Legolas would not want his private pain put on display like this. The touch made the harried ellon jump and Erestor quickly withdrew.

"Yes, it is fine. Please, stay," Legolas managed a shaky smile.

"Now then," Thranduil said firmly, "can you tell me for certain that you believe Legolas has given up the notion of seeking reprieve in Mandos?"

"Adar, I told you I…"

"No, sadly I cannot promise you that," Elrond ignored the interruption. "Even though he says this, and even though he may believe it himself, I fear that Legolas is in denial, saying what we want to hear because he feels guilty for causing worry and distress."

"Elrond, how can you tell him that?"

"That is what I surmised when you demanded from him a solemn promise not to leave my side," Thranduil sighed. "I must tell you that an incident occurred in the bathing chamber."

"Adar!" Legolas leaped to his feet, face pale and eyes enormous. "Don't tell him!"

"What incident?" Elrond leaned closer, anxiety plain on his wise countenance.

"I mentioned the tension between Legolas and Rammas and asked directly to know the cause. Legolas became so rattled he dropped a pitcher, shattering it. The pieces looked like dagger blades. I feared he might reach for one and gathered them up at once."

"Ai Valar!" Legolas groaned, dropping back into his chair where he bent over and clutched his head in his hands, covering his ears. "Ai Valar, I cannot hear this; you cannot be saying this."

"You did right," Elrond assured. "I have seen his eye follow the edge of even the dullest butter knife, measuring in his mind the amount of force he would have to use to make it effective."

"No, no, no, no," Legolas was now rocking back and forth in misery. "It isn't true, I just…I wasn't going to…"

"Legolas," a cool and quiet voice, the assassin's voice, reached him at the same time a firm hand wrapped around his biceps and stopped his nervous oscillations. "Legolas, come with me, mellon, and let us check on Emmelin. Even better, let us go riding for a time. Surely you would welcome a change of scene."

Legolas turned and let his eyes rest on the hand clutching him in such a sturdy grip, feeling the compassion and empathy within it, grateful for the distraction for he had been on the brink of madness, listening to his psyche being dissected by his father and his healer. Quickly he lifted his glance to the seneschal's face and found the grey eyes guileless, the invitation given with hope that it would be accepted but not out of pity. Erestor simply and honestly wanted to take him away from a situation that caused him so much discomfort. Legolas suddenly became aware that everyone had stopped talking. He swallowed and tried to find the courage to face his father. He failed.

"Ada," he paused and licked his lips, "I would like to go riding with Erestor now. Is that all right?" His voice was subdued and pleading, head down and eyes on the floor much as any elfling who found himself in his father's bad graces.

Thranduil noted it and his heart ached with tender anguish for his son's condition, but outwardly he gave no sign. "Of course, ionen, that is fine. You may ride Emmelin as long as you care for her afterwards." He smiled as Legolas rose and bowed, though the glance he received from those beleaguered eyes was fraught with confusion and misery. He shared a swift look with Erestor, silently eliciting the seneschal's promise not to let anything happen to Legolas. He watched his son fairly run from the room and met Elrond's woeful countenance. Conversely, now that they were alone without hindrance, silence stretched between them. Thranduil cleared his throat.

"Lord Erestor is very attentive and solicitous toward Legolas."

"He is," Elrond nodded, "and, more importantly, your son is intrigued by it. That is the most promising development I can name."

"I see." Thranduil rose and moved to stare out the window, watching his son and the seneschal crossing the grounds. "Then we are in accord regarding the course of this cure, but I fear for him, Elrond. What if he seeks to bind over his soul again? Will I not lose him?"

"I wish I could deny it," Elrond sighed heavily, joining his guest at the window, observing the prince and the assassin disappearing into the gardens. "It is true; he could suffer further damage if things go awry. If that happens then getting him to Aman is your only hope. If you convince him to sail now, he will be healed by Estë, but you will be separated by long years."

"He does not want to sail; he would rather die. Am I to force him?"

"I cannot make that determination, Thranduil. He is your son, but he is an adult with rights that I cannot abridge."

Another silence ensued as each considered the hard decision Thranduil faced. "So be it; we will try the remedy. It worked for me, but the process was excruciating in its own way."

"Yes, I know the sensation. I did not want to let go either."

"Will Legolas be able to do so? He has no children to think of, no realm to govern as we both did."

"True, and again I cannot promise you success. He is young and it is my theory that he has not truly given up all of his heart. He just believes he has. The response to Erestor supports that notion."

"Then you have hope and I will hold to that." Then the King paused and turned from the window to study Elrond, his gaze searching, assessing. "Please understand me," he began delicately, "I have nothing but respect for Erestor and know him to be honourable and worthy."

"That he is; you need not fear he will misuse your son's heart. If anything, Erestor will suffer during this process."

"I would not ask that of anyone," Thranduil shook his head, "even to save my son I would not want to inflict his suffering on another heart, a blameless heart."

"Erestor understands the risks and has been through this before," Elrond said diffidently, unaware that his face coloured and gave away more than he might wish.

"All the more reason to be concerned," Thranduil's shrewd eyes tracked over the august ruler. "There is another possibility; I was hoping you would attend this aspect of the cure yourself." 

There he'd said it; now the King returned to his seat and waited for the response, unable to guess the thoughts behind the inscrutable expression trained upon him.

"Me?" Elrond was genuinely surprised. He didn't know what to say, following the monarch to the chairs where he flopped heavily in his. "Mellon, I am not free to attempt it."

"Are you not?" Thranduil insisted gently, peering into Elrond's guarded eyes. "Everyone knows, mellon. I beg you will not turn away from Legolas. I can see that he respects and admires you greatly. That is a strong foundation on which to build. He trusts you."

"Aye, as his healer, as a surrogate, a father-figure, but not…"

"His father is here now," interrupted Thranduil, "and you do not look upon him with the eyes of a father. Your interest is obvious to me and it will be so to him, also, once he has a moment to think on it."

"Nay!" Elrond recoiled in flustered denial and got up again, pacing back to the window. "I would never abuse the delicate position of authority I hold over him. As his healer, someone who has been at his side in the most frightening moments, it is normal for him to become attached and feel gratitude. That is not the same thing as desire, though he may come to mistake it as…"

"I was not talking about his desires," Thranduil said calmly and smiled. "I understand your reticence, but at least consider it."

"It is wrong," Elrond announced forcefully, turning to glare at Thranduil.

"Why, because you love Celebrian? The heart need not be limited, Elrond. Yours can accommodate more than one bond upon it."

"I do not want that!" Elrond suddenly shouted and immediately gasped at the vehemence in his words, the anger in his tone. "Forgive me, I should not have raised my voice, but what you suggest is not possible. We will proceed with Erestor as his suitor."

"As you say," Thranduil stood and bowed, neither disappointed nor angry. "I think I need a short walk among these lovely gardens, if you will excuse me." He smiled and moved toward the door, pausing to look back at the famous ellon standing rigid in dumbfounded quandary, feeling deep compassion for him. 

"She is never coming back," the King said quietly, "and when you sail over sea, she will not be there to greet you." With that he exited the room, regretting the shuddering wince his brutal honesty caused, but Legolas was everything to him.

_And Elrond will bend to my will, for it is his will, also, though he cannot see it. Erestor will be Legolas' suitor, true, but only one of two and the seneschal's success will force his kinsman to face the truth."_

The King decided to follow his son and the advisor, hoping to find a moment to approach Erestor with this plot. The legendary seneschal would certainly agree to aid his kinsman once again, and in so doing aid Legolas, too.

TBC

The Names:  
Gwathel Gelir: Sister Joy  
RAMMAS: Wall  
TALAGAN: Harper  
MUINDORADAR: Uncle (brother-father)  
FORN'WAEW: North Wind  
SAMMAR: Neighbour  
GILION: Star Son

Note: Should be pretty clear what Thranduil is hoping to do: make Erestor and Elrond rivals for Legolas' heart. Does he know, do you think, which one's emotions are stronger? Has he considered what will happen if Legolas rejects them both? If it goes as planned, has he considered what will happen to the loser of this competition? Of the three, Legolas, Erestor, and Elrond, someone's heart is going to take a serious battering.

##### Disclaimer: Main characters and settings originally created by JRR Tolkien. Just for fun, no money earned. OC's and story are erobey's.


	7. Chapter 7

# Fractured Light

### Erestor's Proposition

They walked quietly through the grounds, Erestor's long stride shorter on this occasion, his usual hasty air of urgency cast aside in favour of a more leisurely pace meant to accommodate Legolas' reduced stamina. The Wood Elf was already softly puffing, lips parted, cheeks flushed, and brow glistening just a touch. Erestor was watching him carefully, worried about the strain just endured and the thoughts that might be running through the young warrior's head. Yet the seneschal was not given to secrecy in this sort of endeavour and felt the woodland prince had already figured out what the accepted treatment was for a condition such as his. 

The vivid blue eyes swivelled to meet his, wary and filled with dismay. Erestor could imagine the turmoil inspiring that quandary, for now that they were out of the house Legolas must be wondering how to behave with this ellon he barely knew who knew entirely too much about his trials. The seneschal offered a smile.

"That was rather unsettling," he said, "but they only mean to make you well again."

"Yes, I know this," Legolas frowned around the words and sighed, wiping at his forehead, brows uplifting to discover the moisture there. He stopped and stared at the faint smear across his finger tips. "That doesn't make it any easier to bear. Elbereth! I have never been so weak!" 

The reply was couched in disgust and he set forth again with more determination at the speed he was wont to use and soon was huffing away with every stride. Mortified to have put on such a display of pathetic denial, he considered this ancient warrior must think him about as mature as a five year old. Really, his motivation for asking Erestor to stay after the meal eluded him, yet he could not deny he was glad to be out of there, save that now he couldn't even manage a simple walk to the stables without draining his reserves. Beside him, the tall Noldorin lord matched his gait perfectly, black locks swaying behind him.

"No, kindness and concern does not make their meddling any less disturbing," Erestor conceded, "nor is realisation of the body's limits known to inspire confidence. Even so, these things are not beyond your means to conquer them."

"No?" Legolas was forced to stop again, breathing hard to catch his breath.

"Of course not. You are already greatly improved, and getting outside, pursuing strenuous, wholesome exercise will enhance the body's renewal." Erestor fished about in his pockets, producing a very small flask of gold. The container was engraved in elegant script and bore initials within an elaborate seal, but his hands covered most of it. This he uncapped and passed to Legolas. "Just a sip should ease your pulse and help you regain strength," he said.

"I have suffered injuries before now and healing has always been swift," muttered Legolas, sampling the fluid. Expecting some form of strong, throat-searing spirits, his expression registered pleasant surprise over the smooth, cool liquid's sweet taste and he was not eager to hand the flask back. "Miruvor?"

"Aye, it is."

"You carry that by habit? I thought it was rare." Legolas examined the container, admiring the detailed decorations, and dared another swallow.

"Nay, I don't for it is," Erestor replied, a bit disconcerted. He hadn't thought Legolas would question such a thing and held out his hand for the flask. "That is enough, for it is known to cause lightheadedness if too much is taken."

"Then you brought it for my sake?" Legolas stared in wonder. "How did you know I would come away riding with you this day?"

"I did not, but it seemed right to have Miruvor." He resumed walking and Legolas joined him, arched brows prompting him to elaborate. "It is true I have been hoping to escort you through the grounds; I was but waiting for your health to improve a little more." The young prince was peering at him, the close regard speculative and undoubtedly intrigued. This both pleased the seneschal and made him flustered, an uncommon reaction that only generated more discombobulation. He found his heart thudding erratically and decided to turn the conversation away from his plans for the Wood Elf. 

"As to your long convalescence, that is easily explained. You never tried to kill yourself before." His tone was matter of fact and he smiled again when the face regarding him presented absolute astonishment. "I see no reason to treat your condition differently than any other illness or wound a warrior might suffer. It is not a shameful thing, Legolas, to be so torn in heart and soul. I cannot say I understand, for I have never suffered a blow so severe, but I can tell you I admire your courage in fighting it now, in trying to heal." 

Again Legolas stopped and Erestor paused with him, watching the play of emotions flowing through those expressive eyes. Acceptance and gratitude eventually predominated and Erestor allowed himself a minute moment of relief as he put away the Miruvor, glad he would not be the first to experience the prince's ire.

"I am trying to heal; why can't they see it?" demanded Legolas, appeased by knowing someone did. How he hoped this strange and perilous elf had an answer! This simple ploy to escape his father and Elrond's detailed dissection of his inner-most thoughts was producing most unexpected results, and he could not deny that Erestor's interest was flattering.

"It is difficult to know for sure," shrugged Erestor, gently reaching for the prince's arm and drawing him once more into a slow amble toward the stables. Considering what advise to offer, he reached overhead and picked a bough of delicate apple blossoms. "For your father, it is too soon seeing you to understand the progress made. He has been caught up in a harrowing cycle of guilt and frightful imaginings of your demise. He is filled with the dread of losing you. As for Elrond, I think it is a different sort of fear entirely. He knows there anger is here," the seneschal abruptly but gently touched the fragrant branch to Legolas' chest, "growing in your heart daily. He does not know how severe your wrath will be or what form it will assume when at last you unleash it."

"That makes sense," Legolas smirked, mildly proud to have the great Lord so flummoxed, and then the pleasure of it vanished as he met the glittering eyes watching him so keenly. He was angry with Rammas, true enough, more than he'd been since his Nana's death, and was not glad to have it so obvious to these ancient lords when he couldn't feel comfortable enough to explore that seething tide of darkness within himself. What insights had Elrond and Erestor traded concerning him? Finding he really did not want to know, he turned his mind from such thoughts and his gaze from the assassin's. "You are very wise to be so adept in reading hearts."

"Aye, it is a gift," agreed Erestor, "though I am not sure there is any wisdom involved in it. Makes me rather good at my job."

"What exactly is that?"

"Why, I verily run this place," Erestor stopped and swept his arms wide, holding the bough like a sceptre, pleased when Legolas grinned. They were now in the stable yard and the fragrant scents of hay and horses permeated the air while a steady bustle of activity filled the place. "Without my sage advise and learned counsel, Elrond would be severely disadvantaged."

"Baudh-en-Námo, (Námo's Judgement) is he giving you the power-behind-the-lord speech?" a laughing voice preceded the tall, golden-haired elf to whom it belonged as Glorfindel emerged from the barn leading his renowned and magnificent charger. "Do not heed him; I run things around here. Without my vigilant protection, we'd have humans putting up villages everywhere and before you know it they'd attract orcs and other vermin to the vale. Can't have that." He smiled warmly at the visitor, happy to see him out and about for of course all the valley knew he was there.

"Oh, I readily concede the need for a strong military contingent," said Erestor regally, "but it is diplomacy and negotiation that increases our strength and abundance."

"Bah! What nonsense. To hear you tell it, you talked the Witch King into abandoning Fornost," countered Glorfindel, grinning as Asfaloth left his side to welcome the Wood Elf. 

The dapple-grey stallion lowered his black-velvet muzzle and breathed over Legolas, nickering a soft greeting ere he dipped his head so the ellon could scratch his broad brow. The two were instantly friends and both Erestor and Glorfindel were impressed.

"That is the first time I've seen Asfaloth so congenial with folk he doesn't know," noted Erestor. He neglected to report that the steed despised him utterly, probably because he was the only one brave enough to shoo the horse away when he raided the grain stores or decimated the kitchen gardens. 

"Aye, he likes you," said the great general, nodding at the silent sylvan, knowing full well the effect his presence generally produced on young warriors. "Mae Govannen, Legolas o Gladgalen. It is good to meet you; your grandfather is known to me."

"Mae Govannen, Hîr Glorfindel," Legolas bowed politely but found he could not generate anything more to say. While he had hoped to meet the legend once his heart had cleared enough to think about where he was, he did not want to present as foolish or fawning. Once again, Erestor provided the distraction needed and he caught the seneschal in a look of kindly indulgence that gave his heart a sweet twist. "Were you then at Angmar, too?" he asked.

"I was," admitted Erestor, shrugging, "though my part was minor compared to the sacrifices made by so many gallant men and elves."

"Now he feigns modesty!" exclaimed Glorfindel in mock disgust. "All so that I will announce his accolades instead. So be it, for they are well-deserved. Legolas, to Erestor goes the honour of defeating the vile Witch King himself."

"Truly?" Legolas' eyes grew wide indeed as he turned them once more upon the tall, imposing ellon beside him. "How did you do it? It is said those demons cannot be killed."

"Easy enough once you know the trick," hedged Erestor and leaned close to whisper in Legolas' ear. "I'll explain later when he is not around."

Of course Glorfindel heard him and rolled his eyes. "Fine, keep you secrets, mellon. I must leave you now, Legolas, in the capable guard of this worthy warrior. We shall meet again." With that he sprang upon the horse's back and the pair turned away toward the postern.

"Namarië," called Legolas, arm lifted in salute, gladdened beyond telling to have the gesture returned ere the mighty warrior left the yard. He could not withhold a wistful sigh and blushed to hear Erestor's soft chuckle over his obvious hero worship.

"He's just an elf, you know, no different than you or I," said the seneschal, "though he thoroughly enjoys knowing you find him all you imagined."

"Similar to you, that I can see, but I have done no great deeds," answered Legolas. 

A sudden overwhelming sensation of shame enveloped his heart, recalling that he had wished only to die and spare himself the agony of fading, while folk of Glorfindel and Erestor's ilk had endured far greater hardships and still made contributions to their world. Seeing the woebegone expression accompanying these thoughts, Erestor deduced its cause and reached for Legolas, settling his fingers in a firm grip around the Wood Elf's arm.

"You are young yet; there is plenty of time for you to do your part," he said, presenting an encouraging smile and permitting the prince's clear blue gaze to take its time and mark his sincerity. He was rewarded with a sombre smile and a nod. "Now then," Erestor tossed aside the drooping bough and tugged his companion into motion. "Let us imitate Glorfindel's example and ride out into the countryside. There are many interesting places to see here in Imladris."

They toured the valley at a leisurely pace, speaking little, Erestor stopping whenever Legolas wished, but he kept their journey on a definite trend and before long reached a high bluff overlooking a picturesque dell dotted with bright sunlit meadows and brief stands of hardwoods. Erestor dismounted and Legolas followed suit and the two stood overlooking the vale in silence for a time. The wind was brisk and set the strands of black and golden hair flying, first mixing and filtering them apart again.

"This is my favourite place," Erestor finally said and smiled as he met Legolas' inquisitive eyes. "It reminds me of my childhood home in Beleriand. See the way the land is divided between open plains and sheltered wooded zones? It seems almost as if people ordered things thus and lived here once, long ago. So I imagine it."

"That is no wonder; there was indeed a village there," said Legolas with such assurance in his voice that Erestor was stunned speechless a moment. Thinking the learned Noldorin elf doubted him, Legolas hastened to justify his claim. "Natural meadows do not develop this way. Normally, the trees would have overtaken the empty space by now and that they haven't means the land is not the right composition to feed them. Other plants were there and the soil is depleted now. Only these grasses and wildflowers can find nourishment."

"You believe elves did live here?" Erestor at last found his voice.

"Yes. Have you never searched for artifacts left behind? People who till the land always leave other markers as well. I am sure we might find all manner of things there, just beneath the earth."

"What kinds of things?" The elder ellon was intrigued and caught the note of pride in the young warrior's voice. Legolas needed a means to feel worthy inside himself. His innate knowledge of the natural world was a logical topic through which the he would shine and Erestor decided at once to employ it to fan that wavering inner light into brilliance. "I never thought to look for any signs such as you suggest."

"It depends on what elves were here," Legolas shrugged but scanned the vale more keenly, gratified to have a subject about which he was well-versed on which to expound. It was rather daunting to be in the presence of so many great people with only his prestige as Thranduil's son and the infamy of his desperate actions to put in the balance against his youth and inexperience. "I've seen something similar before, far to the south in Greenwood where my people no longer shelter. That region hasn't been inhabited since the fall of Amon Lanc and the land shows these same signs of over-use, thus I believe the elves were not sylvan and the settlement was abandoned long before Oropher's migration to Greenwood.

"Now this place," he went on, pointing into the vale, "was not colonised by Noldorin folk, for there would be deeper indentations where once stood houses of stone and wood. Telerin people, surely, but it is strange for we do not normally form agrarian communities. Such villages are too easily spotted and too difficult to defend. One raid of Orcs and an entire year's crops are ruined, houses burned, stores looted." He shook his head sadly. "That is probably why they did not stay. From infrequent raids of Orcs they could recover, but as the demons increased and the attacks with them, it was just too much. This tells us two things: first, it confirms the folk were not Noldor, for they are more war-like in nature than the Teleri and would have made an army and a place to train and house it, and second that the settlement was too small in numbers to both maintain an effective defence and work the land."

"Nay," disagreed Erestor, "these must have been Avarin elves and this explains their fey nature." He found Legolas gazing at him quizzically. "What?"

"Avarin elves are not a race of people as are the Telerin and Noldorin and Vanyarin folk. They are just elves who did not want to go to Aman. They must represent all three races and I doubt they call themselves Avari," he said. He almost laughed at the astonishment in the elder's eyes and smiled, unconsciously straightening his stature and lifting his head.

"Incredible," said Erestor and meant it. "I have never considered what you just elucidated, though it makes perfect sense now that I hear you say it. I would love to know about the elves who first made Imladris home, but will it not disturb the land to go digging for relics?"

Again Legolas shrugged. "This land is already disturbed and altered severely. What we may do is minor in comparison. The people must have remained long here to so change the place."

"I wish I could see it through your eyes," announced Erestor, "for I confess I cannot detect these drastic changes. All looks serene and natural to me."

"That is only because you do not know the usual assembly of plants that would inhabit a meadow wrought by Yavanna's hands. In Greenwood I have seen such places, vacant due to felling of trees or fires. The trees always overtake the open land eventually and there is a specific progression of grasses, brush, shrubs, and finally trees. Shall we go down and examine your Avarin village?"

"Indeed!" Erestor laughed. "I am eager to learn if they were Telerin as you suspect."

"More likely they were of mixed descent," remarked Legolas as he leaped astride Emelin's back, "both Telerin and Noldorin."

"What, no Wood Elves?" joked Erestor and mounted up as well.

"Nay, surely not!" a huge grin overtook Legolas' features. "Sindarin, Galadhrim, Wood Elves, all these are but different names for arboreal Teleri occupying different places. The Faladhrim would not like it here either, so far from the seas." He considered a moment as they proceeded down the track. "It is fitting, for Imladris is a realm of many peoples even now. There are Noldorin folk and Sindarin folk and even Lindi, or green elves, from Ossiriand, though most of those remain far to the north on the wooded coasts of Lindon. You have cultivated fields here now, do you not, Hîr Erestor, and a fine city with many smaller communities around it?"

"True, but stop calling me 'Hîr', if you please. You do not want me prefacing every utterance with 'Ernil Legolas', I'll warrant."

"Nay! I do not think of myself that way and I'd hardly know to whom you were speaking. Rammas is Ernil-en-Gladgalen." His mouth shut tight upon completing the sentence and a dark burst of fire shot through the azure eyes, but he said no more and ignored Erestor's expression of mild surprise and curiosity. The clever assassin would not let it be, though.

"There is strife betwixt you and your brother," he said. "I did not mean to call it to your mind, but since it is now between us, I would speak of it openly." Erestor waited to see what reaction this might produce and was prepared for the prickly affront and withdrawal exhibited.

"I don't see why. Must my past ever be foremost in every conversation I undertake?"

"Certainly not and I did not mean to imply you should do so. I only wish to tell you that it is not something you need keep hidden in your heart, not with me. Should you desire an open ear to vent this anger building in your soul, I will gladly be your audience. A most discreet audience; in fact, I will be as stone for you."

"Stone? Stone does not feel and so I don't see how that can be, nor would I want an unfeeling friend. I confess I do not understand you, Erestor."

"It gladdens me to hear you name me friend, Legolas. I only meant that stones do not speak and so whatever you say to me will never be repeated. I am no healer and cannot pretend to understand the workings of the heart and soul as does Elrond, but I am a gifted listener. There, I have said it and we need not address the topic again unless you choose. I am here and I am your friend; as such, I am your staunch supporter in whatever you undertake, be that unleashing the demons of a conflicted faer or uncovering the remnants of an Avarin village."

Legolas was quiet as he considered this, not a little amazed to detect once more that winsome and wistful undertone in the assassin's voice, a softer inflection and gentler pitch. He could not deny it pleased him to hear it and this was even more confusing. Was he hoping for this elf to come to love him? If so, what could he offer in return if his heart belonged to Rammas.  _Mayhap it does not, not completely. Nay, that isn't true, either; I do love him no matter how angry I may be._  Acknowledging that made him seethe with fury, knowing the feelings were not returned and, as he had begun to comprehend, that he had been used. He did not realise what a horrific scowl contracted his fair features and thus was unprepared for Erestor's contrite and doleful apology.

"Forgive me if I offended you; that was not my intent, Ernilen." Erestor mentally kicked himself; it was too soon to broach this topic and now he feared the prince would shut himself away in silent gloom once more.

"No," Legolas reached over and clasped the seneschal's arm. "I am the one who should ask forgiveness. Your friendship is generously given and I have permitted that very past I claim to want ignored to intrude upon it. Let us agree to seek for lighter topics and forgo that which can only drive away the joy such a day as this, such a place as this, and such company as this should bring. And I thought we agreed not to use pretentious titles."

"Well said," smiled Erestor. They continued on in amiable silence and soon reached the daisy dotted meadow. Legolas dismounted and bent to take up a handful of earth, lifting it to his nose and rubbing it between his fingers. The seneschal joined him and waited for his evaluation.

"Aye, here were fields of plants for the harvesting of fibres: flax mostly and cotton, I think. We will find little artifacts beneath the roots. Bits of harness for oxen or metal buckles and clasps from the same. We will need to go into the trees to find the homes in which these people dwelled." Legolas stood and strode off toward the nearest stand of hardwoods, Erestor matching him stride for stride.

"How can you tell what manner of plant was cultivated here if none remain?" he asked, genuinely impressed by the Wood Elf's depth of understanding.

"Not all are gone," Legolas stopped and pointed out a straggling cluster of shrubby plants. "That is cotton; I have seen it growing in fields in the lands of Dale. Flax you surely know," he went on, gazing about to find a specimen. Erestor found it first and exclaimed aloud.

"There! Why did I fail to notice this before?"

"You were distracted by the flowers and the sense of peace residing here. The elves tried to repair the land ere they left it, but I do not think they knew how. They could not understand that the plants they needed could wear out the earth, thus I hold to what I said. They were Telerin folk, unused to an agrarian life. The land forgives them, though, and wishes they would return."

"Then what happened to them?" Erestor asked. He didn't know quite what to make of Legolas' deep connection to everything in nature, though Elrond had described his daily meditations and communion with Arda. He wondered if the sylvan realised what a unique gift this was, a connection as deep as any possessed among the Maiar, and answered himself in the negative. The seneschal found himself worrying over what had happened to Legolas to make him so lacking in self-esteem rather than pondering the fate of the unknown villagers.

"Who can say? Mayhap they made their way down to the ocean or over the mountains. My people claim there is a colony of sylvans living near the inland sea of Rhûn. These might have been their ancestors."

"I have heard those rumours but none have been able to locate that hidden realm," remarked Erestor. Suddenly he stopped and stooped down, retrieving a small, shiny disk faintly imprinted with a delicate design that might have been decorative or might have been words. He held it out for Legolas to see. "What do you make of this? I would say it is a coin save elves seldom engage in commerce that way."

"I cannot guess," Legolas took it and inspected the worn surface. "It is not silver entirely else it would have tarnished, but there is surely silver in it. It could be a coin. Everything we find will be a mystery and it is best not to assign these objects a name and purpose until we learn more." He handed it back, smiling, sharing the eager excitement Erestor transmitted. "We must mark that place where it lay so to inspect the area further." So saying he took out his handkerchief and searched for a stick to tie it to, thrusting this into the soil where the object had been found.

"Surely it has been moved by time and the elements. That cannot be its original resting place."

"Maybe so, but maybe time and the elements have merely uncovered it, having first buried it Ages ago, and this is where it fell or was dropped by one of the inhabitants of this village. The honour of the initial find goes to you, Erestor, as it should since you discovered the location itself," he grinned and moved on, scanning the ground as he went.

"Nasan. (So be it)" Erestor joined him and they reached the woods without recovering anything more, but once beneath the limbs Legolas halted, pointing to one of the trees, all of which were very old, yet this one was clearly more ancient and venerable. Indeed, the Wood Elf actually bowed low and did not encroach further for a time, seeking that variety of communion with the great oak particular to the sylvans, until at last he smiled at the seneschal.

"This is the place and here is the very tree where these people would meet to hold gatherings and meetings of every sort. A blessing is the bond between the First-born of Iluvatar and the first-born of Yavanna, for these elves imparted some of the Music of their souls to this tree, enabling it to survive far past its natural life. Now, with the added power of Elrond's ring, Doroniaur may never perish until all the elves have left Middle-earth. She bids us welcome and is glad for us to learn of her 'hen pannen' (walking children), but begs we will not dig about too deeply here near her roots. It was an important community once; perhaps we will find something of great beauty and refinement even to rival that golden flask of yours, Erestor."

"Ah, this?" Erestor brought forth the small canteen again, marvelling anew at Legolas' unconscious insight. "In a manner of speaking, it is a relic, too, of my days in Gondolin. Great beauty, indeed, would an object need to present to compare favourably with anything from that lost realm."

"You were at Gondolin?" Legolas halted and gaped at the seneschal, eyes scanning his face and form as though there ought to be some noticeable sign of the ancient city lingering there. His scrutiny again made Erestor uncomfortable so that he turned away from the gaze as he answered.

"I was born there." His tone and demeanour bore a melancholy caste and Legolas, attuned since childhood to monitoring the moods of those around him, squelched his curiosity, not wishing to force the ellon to recall that which must be painful. 

The pair resumed their walk in silence and began their investigation, defining the bounds of the settlement after an hour's painstaking inspection of the woods. It was smaller than Erestor would have thought considering the size of the fields they'd crossed, yet Legolas opined that they would probably find this but one enclave and that the actual village was a cluster of such home sites rimming the cultivated gardens. 

Erestor wondered if the separation denoted different family groups or if it was due to race and custom, with Noldor apart from Telerin folk. Legolas held that the designation was according to clan groups, the people thrown together and mingled much as the sylvans and the Sindar were now. The discussion cleared the air between them, for Erestor resumed his normal attitude, and neither cared for the passing of time, so much greater was the sense of enjoyment in their task and the gradual acknowledgement of the accord growing between them. Finally, Erestor proudly called Legolas over to his greatest find: a well. 

So deftly delved and properly supported was the shaft that the earth had not closed over the hole. Around it was a ring of stones carried up from the river bed several leagues away. No doubt there had been a fine structure here complete with a means for retrieving the water at the bottom, which shimmered and winked at the elves when they bent low over the rim. Smiling together, they sat upon the grass and surveyed the place from this vantage. 

"You possess all the attributes of a most resourceful spy, based on your ability to ferret out so pivotal a location so quickly," laughed Legolas.

"Oh, did I neglect to mention that is one of my chief responsibilities here?" rejoined the seneschal. "I am often gone from the valley, slinking stealthily through the Enemy's secret lairs, gathering intelligence upon which Glorfindel and his brave warriors base their manoeuvres."

"I believe you," averred Legolas, grinning.

"Yet what is so significant about a well?" Erestor guided the conversation back to the villagers. "It is necessary, this I see, yet surely there are other objects and sites more demonstrative of the culture that devised them."

"Perhaps, but there is much to learn here beneath the soil. How the water was drawn forth, for instance. Is the mechanism a simple winch and pulley or some sort of pump? Did the folk bear the water away in earthen jars or transport it via chutes and pipes? All of these things will reveal much about the folk who called this place home."

"Of course," Erestor nodded and smiled. "You seem to have done this before," he observed.

"Aye, though the culture was not ancient," Legolas admitted freely. "In my Adar's stronghold are many abandoned places, some deep beneath the earth. Often as a child I would go exploring there. In one section I found a place where the dwarves who delved the fortress had lived during their work. I learned much about the Anfangrim by what they left behind."

"That seems a dismal and dangerous playground for an elfling." Erestor stared at the woodland prince with something like horror. "I have no love of caves and holes in the ground."

"Nor do I, any more." Legolas' gaze turned inward and he shivered, recalling the time when his joyful meandering amid the labyrinth ended. He'd somehow taken a wrong turning and became lost, and while he was not so young as to be reduced to panic and terror, still it took him two days to find the way again and his torch had long since died, his small pack emptied of food and water. The damage to his health was much less serious than the knowledge that no one had noticed his absence, for Rammas had been out on patrol and never learned of it. Without even really considering it, Legolas poured out this story to Erestor and was immediately comforted to feel the weight of the seneschal's hand upon his shoulder.

"That is an unhappy memory," he said, "a burden each and every one of the First-born is destined to carry. The grief and sorrow afflicting us all spawns the same in those we would most hope to shield from it. I am certain your Adar would never have allowed you to even go into those caves, much less fail to note your absence, had he been well and strong. His love for you is evident." He gave a firm squeeze ere he withdrew his hold. Truly, he was scandalised by the account and saw more clearly how Legolas' natural dignity could become so eroded that life itself became unbearable, nor did he miss the importance of Rammas' place in the tale.

"Aye, this I know," Legolas smiled his thanks for the kind words.

No speech passed between them as the serenity of the glade surrounded them once more and lent each an abiding sense of belonging. Again recognition of their deepening friendship became foremost in their hearts and Erestor felt the time was right to speak of it. Indeed, the prince's sudden revelation of such personal events demanded it.

"Legolas, I know you have no wish to discuss the cause that made you seek the realm of Námo, yet there is that which I would say and that which I would hear you answer," he intoned gravely, watching the clear blue eyes fill with wary dread.

"What would you have me say?" Legolas demanded, disappointed for he had so enjoyed simply having a friend and doing normal things, for the most part free of thoughts of death or of Rammas. That this was true surprised him and it showed.

"Tell me what you're thinking now," urged Erestor and drew near, reaching out to cover Legolas' hand where it rested on the turf.

"Oh!" Legolas felt heat rising in his cheeks but did not withdraw from the contact. "I was just amazed that while we've been here, I barely thought of Rammas nor have I felt the pull toward Mandos a bit." 

"That is good!" cried Erestor, deeply gratified and encouraged, while simultaneously concerned over the inescapable relevance of Thranduil's elder son in Legolas' life. A suspicion began to work its way into his thoughts that increased his dislike of Greenwood's Crowned Prince. "Then it is wise for me to speak frankly with you."

"About what?" Legolas pulled away, fearing he already knew the topic of this conversation. "I would rather you did not. Must the day's end become as was the noon? Please, I have not been as easy in my own skin in many months as I have in these few hours."

"It heartens me to hear it," assured Erestor, "nor have I any wish to ruin such peace and contentment. Rather, I would prefer to be the cause for many more such hours for you, Legolas. That is why this talk is necessary."

Legolas sighed heavily and it was plain to see the weight of his guilt, anger, and sorrow gathering over his spirit. Erestor almost gave in, yet he was wise and genuinely desired to help the young prince overcome his grief. He named his terms boldly.

"Hear me through and then consider all I say before answering. It is vital lest I would not insist so strongly, Legolas."

"Nasan," groaned Legolas, shoulders slumping as he lowered his face atop his hands.

"You know there is no need to perish from grieving sickness, do you not?"

"Aye." The single syllable was curt and cutting but Legolas kept his head down.

"Then the method of achieving this cure is also known to you?"

"It is," he ground the words out and shifted in discomfort. He really did not want to speak of this. "I cannot undergo that therapy."

"So have others believed who were deep in the grip of the sickness," said Erestor calmly. "Yet I have seen it work and so have you. Your own Adar is living proof of the effectiveness of this cure, as is my kinsman, Elrond."

"You would have me dishonour the bond I cherish most," Legolas spat, countenance lifting as he trained furious eyes upon the seneschal. "In doing so I would also dishonour myself. How is this fitting? Is it not damning enough to endure this despicable fading death? Denied the dignity of a warrior's passing, now you expect me to make use of another to rid myself of that bond, not caring if such use might damage another heart as well. How is this just and good?"

"No one asks this of you," stated Erestor. "A true bond need not be sundered, nor would those joined by a true bond remain unforgiving of the means to salvage a cherished mate. Do you suppose those sundered by death long to have the living partner join them in Mandos? Do you count your Adar dishonourable or your Naneth defamed because he lives?"

"Nay, I know Ada still loves and cherishes Nana," Legolas scowled and squirmed uncomfortably. It was something he tried not to think about too much. He'd been so happy to have his Adar become a part of his life at last that he'd steadfastly refused to contemplate how it had come to be. At least, not overly much. That Galion was long beloved as his guardian had made acceptance much easier. 

He heaved another aggrieved sigh and flashed the Noldorin lord a glance. Erestor was waiting patiently, his eyes awash in commiseration and remorse for forcing the unpalatable discussion. Legolas was immediately moved to ease the conscience of this ellon who had showed him such friendship and spoke before quite realising what he said. "I will hear your words, Erestor. Know that I realise your intention is to do me good. Yet, what do you propose here? Are you to be my…my paramour?"

"Such is the notion of Elrond and he is a wise healer; thus, his recommendations ought not to be discounted. I have been successful in this endeavour in the past and that is why he thinks it best." Erestor presented this as simply as he could, finding no benefit in hedging the truth in genteel speech. As expected, Legolas was shocked to hear the actual words and scrambled to his feet, staring upon the seneschal, a mixture of curiosity and anxiety warring within his eyes. Erestor rose as well.

"You have done this before?" the prince blurted out. "What of your own heart, Erestor? Have none of these salvaged souls remained dear to you?"

"I have done it once and the person is indeed dear to me and I to him, though the bond we share is no longer the intimate one of mates or lovers," Erestor explained. "We remain as we were before his bout with grief: staunch friends, allies, and kinsmen."

"Kinsmen!" Legolas gasped, thoughts reeling as the implications of this became clear. "You and Elrond?" He was dumbfounded, uncertain whether to admire the assassin or shun him, whether it was right to become a kinsman's lover for the sake of saving him or whether it was atrocious.

"Aye. It was after Celebrian left, of course, and Elrond was fading. The desire to go with her had been so strong, but he did not do so on account of his promise to Gil-galad. That she counted a great betrayal. Enmity came between them at the end and she cursed their bond, saying she desired it no longer. She gave back her wedding band and went to Aman with the clear intent of starting life anew, should her soul be healed of the torments she endured. Elrond was devastated. The idea that he had traded her for Vilya, which were her last words to him, ate away at his spirit. Had I not intervened he would have perished within a year."

"That is terrible," Legolas was shaking his head over the chilling tale. "How did you convince him to put aside his natural feelings for Celebrian?" he could not help but ask, curiosity overcoming manners.

"I didn't," answered Erestor bluntly and then stood silent, arms crossed over his chest, daring Legolas to ask him. The prince took the challenge, again bending to the inquisitive nature all elves possessed.

"Well, then, how did you become his lover and affect this cure, for surely he is well and whole now?"

"I had help," said Erestor. "His sons aided me by drugging him with herbs and strong wine. I carried him off to the place we'd arranged for the tryst and managed the rest on my own. We kept him nearly unconscious for almost a week while I worked to rejuvenate his spirit, and when I deemed him capable of accepting the truth, we brought him out of the fog."

"Valar! What happened then?"

"He nearly killed me," Erestor snorted with grim mirth, "and in the effort to do so suddenly came to realise he had no wish to hurt me. Indeed, he found he loved me as much as he ever had Celebrian. We reconciled and were paired for many years, centuries." He fell silent as memories claimed his attention and Legolas thought he detected a fleeting shadow of sorrow and loss passing through the cool grey eyes. Then the bold assassin grinned and shrugged. "We are only close friends now. He healed and had no further need of the comfort of our union."

"And you?" Legolas asked, voice gentler than a summer breeze. "Does your soul no longer crave that union? Is desire so indifferent?"

Now Erestor turned away, unable to hold that clear blue gaze, for somehow Legolas had seen the wounds his heart had taken then. "I am happy he is well and whole," he offered, unable to keep a hint of bitterness from his tone. "Desire is not indifferent, Legolas, but I do not long for him that way now."

"Yet you did, for a time, after he was no longer moved to join with you," Legolas said softly. He drew close and settled a comforting hand upon the tall ellon's shoulder, touched by his sacrifice and the price he had paid to aid his cousin. "Your heart is strong and noble, but I wonder if it is prepared for another such rejection. I would not harm you thus; another way must be found."

Erestor turned to him in surprise and gripped the young ellon at the biceps, smiling in appreciation for such considerate words. The idea drifted through his thoughts that he would indeed be destroyed by such rejection from Legolas, but he pushed it aside. "Here is another noble heart," he said, pressing his palm against the Wood Elf's chest, "and it must not be permitted to falter and fade. What I propose is not a union with me, but with Elrond himself, pen neth."

Legolas' eyes popped wide and he stepped out of Erestor's light embrace. "With Elrond?" he stuttered. That he had not expected. "How so if he is well, for now he must think only of joining his wife when at last he leaves for Aman. Am I to drug him with wine and woo him as you did?"

"Nay, I would not have you endure that," laughed Erestor darkly, "nor are you healthy enough to manage it just now. You are right, too, to say he is consumed by this false hope of reunion. She was serious in her actions and has dissolved that bond. Whatever Elrond may wish, Celebrian will not be there to greet him on the shores of Eldamar. I would have him face that reality with a strong ally beside him. I believe you would be an excellent companion for him and he would come to love you dearly; so dearly he would not be searching for her face when the two of you cross the sea. Already he finds your beauty and grace compelling, though he will continue to resist the attraction as long as possible."

"I know not what to answer," murmured Legolas, thoughts whirling with all he had heard. 

He did feel drawn to the great healer, but had considered this more the kind of respect and admiration he tendered to his Ada than to a potential lover. Then again, he had not permitted himself to envision anyone as a potential lover, save Rammas. Yet, that was not exactly right either, for had he not already pondered Erestor's interest in him and found it pleased him? Unwittingly, his eyes traversed the virile male before him and the examination prompted a quickening of his pulse. Erestor was attractive, alluring, and possessed of a mysterious, commanding presence. Legolas blinked, blushing over these thoughts, and found himself hopelessly befuddled by his reactions to the seneschal's proposal.

"You need not answer now. As I said, I want you to consider all this carefully before you come to a decision," Erestor continued, glad beyond telling to note that the young prince was no longer protesting against the idea of being cured of grief by this method. Now it was only a matter of who would be the physician to undertake the healing that consumed his thoughts. This was progress indeed and he was relieved, for approaching Legolas so directly was surely not in Elrond's plans.

The seneschal felt his heart jump as he was evaluated frankly, pleased to note the open appreciation overtaking Legolas' features. A pang of regret following immediately, for part of him hoped the young warrior would reject the plan and choose him instead. Still, he believed the course he'd outlined was best for all concerned and would not turn from it now.

"I will think on it," agreed Legolas, "and discuss it with Adar, if you do not object."

"Nay, I was going to counsel you to do so."

"Nasan. You will have my answer in six days' time."

No more did they say on the subject nor did they continue their studies of the abandoned home-site, the day being far advanced. Unwilling to worry Thranduil unduly, both agreed to resume the archaeological investigation on the morrow and returned to the Last Homely House.

TBC

The Names:  
RAMMAS: Wall  
TALAGAN: Harper  
MUINDORADAR: Uncle (brother-father)  
FORN'WAEW: North Wind  
SAMMAR: Neighbour  
GILION: Star Son

Note: A little longer than most chapters for this tale, but I wanted to spend some time developing the friendship between Erestor and Legolas, with its undertones of mutual attraction. Is Legolas' response to the seneschal based on that subconsciously registered comment when first Erestor saw him? Even I am not entirely sure anymore. Hope this was not boring stuff.


End file.
